


Just A Little Trigger-Happy

by NappingStabbingBlooking



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Badass Ryan, Blood, Crime, Criminal Ryan, Death, Drug Use, Drugs, F/F, F/M, Fake AH Crew, Florist Ray, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Guns, Hurt Ray, M/M, Roses, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Violence, haha guns and roses. get it?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-08-18 15:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8167712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NappingStabbingBlooking/pseuds/NappingStabbingBlooking
Summary: Ray grew up with people constantly asking him about his soul mark. Which was stupid, because it wasn't like he knew exactly what it meant. No one really did. And he couldn't really hide it, either. He had the terrible misfortune of his tattoo appearing smack dab in the middle of his palm, and fingerless gloves just made him look like a prick. It honestly wouldn't have been very much of a problem, if his soul mark hadn't of happened to be a gun. Ray grew up just trying not to care. That is, until he meets his soulmate, who shoots him. Twice. ---Soulmate!AU where you're born with a black and white tattoo of an item or possession your soulmate is often associated with. When you meet them, the tattoo will gain its color.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to my fanfiction. This is my first AH fanfiction, but I've been watching Achievement Hunter and the likes for years. I finally felt like I should contribute, and since I love me some Fake AH Verse, as well as Raywood, with a hint of Mavin on the side. So here you all go! 
> 
> *disclaimer* i am barely putting any effort into this fic. i write as an outlet when i'm bored and i don't give a shit if it's bad. may or may not update depending on whether or not i become distracted with life. chow

Ray was sweating, down on his knees, with his hands in the dirt. 

If there was one thing he hated about working in a greenhouse, it was the heat. 

Summers in Los Santos were usually warm yet mild, but this week they had been hit with a sudden heatwave, and Ray hated it. 

He enjoyed wearing jeans and jackets, but that just didn't do under the sweltering sun. 

Ray checked the soil of each and every one of his plants and flowers, watering and fertilizing the appropriate ones, as well as picking a few he planned to make bouquets with. 

He was just about to switch one of his plants over to a new pot (it was growing faster than he expected) when someone rang the little bell Ray left on his front counter in his shop. 

"Coming!" He yelled, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his hand, and then transferring that onto his favorite purple hoodie. 

Ray left the greenhouse and entered through the back of his shop, taking his place behind the counter. 

"What's up?" He asked guy who stood across from him, thankful for both the fan on his counter blowing cold air on his face and a moment of interaction between another human. 

People didn't come to his shop very much, and that was for a couple of good reasons. 

One, it was on one of the sketchier sides of town, which deterred little timid old people from coming here (Ray hated to admit old people were some of his biggest customers). 

Two, people just didn't buy flowers anymore, unless it was for something special like a wedding. But Ray was usually called in advance for stuff like that, and he did deliveries so there was no point for anyone to come here in person. 

Except for the man before him, who was looking rather agitated as he drummed his fingers on the table top, his hat pulled low over his face. 

The third and last reason someone would approach his shop was for his... other plants. 

"I heard you uh, sell some stuff," hat-guy said, finally meeting Ray's eyes under the rim. Greasy hair stuck out he bottom of the cap, and he found himself wishing he was alone once more in his little flower shop. 

But instead, Ray lifted an eyebrow. 

"Oh yeah? Heard that from who, exactly?" 

Ray had very few clients who came to him on a loosely based schedule for his goods, but he wasn't running an open service. He was rather unhappy his info had gotten out. He wasn't a big time dealer, and only grew to provide enough so he could afford the rent, because working as a full time florist was shit pay. 

The guy wiped his nose on his sleeve, breaking eye contact and stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

"Just around," he said lamely. 

Silence filled the shop. 

"...my uh, dealer got busted last week. I was actually in the market for a new one. You interested?" 

Ray was. His xbox had busted the other day, and there was no way he could afford a new one without a little extra money on the side. But Ray wasn't convinced yet. 

"I'm not sure if you're worthy enough to be a client of mine yet," Ray mused, shifting so he was leaned over the counter with his hands holding up his chin. 

Hat-guy looked distressed. 

"I get it, I do. But I really need some weed, pronto. I smoked my bosses' stash this weekend and I need to replace it, real quick." 

Ray quickly decided he disliked the guy, but the man sounded desperate, which meant Ray could rip him off pretty easily. He wasn't interested in making this guy his client, but he wouldn't mind selling to him just this once for a good wad of cash. 

"How much you need?" 

"Ten grams." 

Ray shook his head. He only grew enough for his clients and a little on the side just in case. He had about half an ounce saved up, but he wasn't about ready to give that to some random druggie. 

"Most I can give you right now is five." 

Hat-guy sighed in frustration, but he looked like he was going to take what he could get. 

"Can I start a tab?" The guy asked hopefully, pretending to check his pockets and come up empty handed. 

"I hope you're joking," Ray said icily. 

The guy glared at Ray before begrudgingly pulling out his wallet and slapping what looked to be fifty dollars on the counter. 

"Oooohh no. This'll cost you extra for being so short notice," Ray said smugly, reaching out his left hand palm up, gesturing for more money. 

Then he caught sight of his soul mark on his hand and suddenly grew rather self-conscious, but he refused to pull his hand away. 

The other man looked like he wanted to argue, but then caught sight of his hand. Then the druggie laughed out loud, and then began digging in his pockets for extra change. 

"Man, I hope your soulmate is a dirty cop who comes to arrest you one day," he taunted, slapping a wet twenty dollar bill into his hand. 

Ray grimaced, crumpling it in his hand as well as grabbing the rest of the cash, stuffing it in his pockets. 

Then he went back out to the greenhouse, divvying up five grams of marijuana (but then decided to take a gram back out in retaliation) and handed it to the man, who pocketed it without a second glance and took off without so much as a name, contact card, or goodbye. But Ray didn't care. He was just glad he managed to fool fool the druggie, and that he was seventy dollars richer. 

"Maybe," Ray said with a smirk, looking out the large window as cars passed down the street for a few seconds before heading back to further organize his flowers. 

\---

Ray didn't really have anything against guns, but they did make him a little wary when he heard distant gunshots late at night while he was playing video games. 

It wasn't that he was afraid of handling them. He'd shot plenty of them with his dad at an outdoor shooting range- that is, before his dad was arrested. His father used to joke that if possible, Ray should avoid guns at all costs in order to keep from meeting his soulmate. 

Meeting your soulmate was inevitable, but Ray did a solid for his old man and he avoided anything that had to do with guns like the plague (even though he had a lot of fun shooting, especially with his dad's sniper rifle). 

The whole world acted as if the only thing that mattered in life was meeting your soulmate, but when it came to Ray, life just so happened to have a way of shitting on his face. 

Nearly everyone Ray met had made some comment or regard about his mark, and they were always dark connotations. 

'Of course his soul mark would be a gun, his mother was a druggie!' 

'Hey, is it true your dad killed someone with a gun? Like the one on your hand?' 

'That poor boy will meet someone who will drag him into a gang one day.'

Especially after his mother was sent to rehab and his father to prison, people only tsked that Ray would inevitably walk down the same road. 

Ray had only shrugged. Maybe that was true, but it didn't bother him much. His parents had been good people- they had taken care of him the best they could under their circumstances, and most importantly, Ray knew his parents had loved him. 

Besides, the soul mark depicted the personality of his soulmate, not himself. 

Ray just did his best not to think about it anymore. While his childhood had been rough, he now lived his days in his beloved flower shop and spent his nights escaping through hours upon hours of video games alone or online with few select friends. 

It all was pretty good. 

Until one night, everything changed. 

Ray was in his green house once again, snipping his favorite flowers off of his pride and joy, his rose bush. 

Roses by far were the flowers he sold most commonly, and he just so happened to like them the most, especially the red ones. 

He gathered a small bouquet for himself to take home to give some color to his apartment, careful not to prod himself with the thorns as he shut off the lights and unplugged his whirring fan. 

Ray was stood outside the front door in the warm summer night, fumbling with his keys and the bundle of roses when a loud burst of gun shots sounded, not even a block away from where he stood. 

Ray jumped, keys clattering to the ground, spinning around to try and locate the sound when a man threw open the door of the convenience store across the street. 

The man was tall- Ray could tell even across the street that he was taller than him. He was also holding a duffel bag in hand, but he quickly slung it across his back. 

He was also wearing a rather familiar looking black skull mask, and worse, carrying a pistol in his right hand. 

Ray couldn't move. He inwardly screamed at his legs to move, to take him far away from that tall man and this place, but for some reason he was rooted to the ground. 

All his life, Ray tried not to care about the mark on his hand. He played his video games, occasionally dated some people, and smoked weed when he was having a really shit day. 

He tried his best not to think up any of the random scenarios that involved a gun, tried not to think of what it would be like to meet them, tried not to think of the black and white gun becoming a solid color on his hand- but couldn't help but wonder, during the darkest hours of the night what it would be like to have a soulmate. 

Everything Ray had been waiting for was suddenly upon him. He didn't even have to look at his soul mark to know it was beginning to fill with color. 

And that's when the man took off his skull mask, revealing a face of which Ray had never dreamed to see in person. 

The Vagabond, the most dangerous and highly feared member of Los Santos' most famous group of criminals- the Fake AH Crew. He stood there valiantly, with his terrifyingly painted face which popped up on the news station more times than Ray could count, tapping his foot and occasionally looking at his wrist- probably waiting for his escape ride to swing by. 

Ray dropped his bundle of roses, and the Vagabond looked up sharply, suddenly aware of Ray's presence. 

For a few seconds, they stared at each other. Ray never realized how blue the Vagabond's eyes were up until this point, or how good his longish, dirty blonde hair looked swept back. His mugshot did him no justice; he was much more horrifying yet magnificent in person. 

And then the Vagabond took a step forward, crossing the street towards him. The movement snapped Ray out of his daze and that's when he remembered that this man coming towards him was a highly wanted criminal who killed any witnesses just so unlucky enough to stumble across him during a heist. 

Ray finally came to his senses, whipping around to take cover in his shop, but only succeeded in harshly rattling the door in a feeble attempt to open it. He had already locked it as well as drop the keys. 

By then the Vagabond had made it to his side of the street and pulled the gun on him, taking his aim on Ray. 

"Woah, woah, wait!" Ray shouted, stumbling back and pressed him self against the wall as the Vagabond approached him. 

Any second now, that man- not just a man, but his soulmate- would pull the trigger. 

Ray held his hands up in a last ditch effort, his breath caught in his throat as the Vagabond aimed straight at his head, the gun inches from pressing against his forehead. 

The same gun that was tattooed on his hand. 

"It's good to finally see that gun after all these years," Ray swallowed as he stared down the barrel, then up to the notorious killer, looking him straight in the eye.

"I was always worried I was going to have to spend the rest of my life with some fat mall cop, but this is way cooler. THE Vagabond. Who knew?" 

The Vagabond stared down at him humorlessly. There was a long pause, as if he was contemplating how exactly to respond to Ray's words. 

"What the hell are you talking about?" 

Ray couldn't help but smirk.The killer was at least giving him a chance to talk his way out of this, and if there was one thing he was good at, it was running his mouth. 

Ray was just glad he hadn't put a bullet in his head yet. 

So he eased his shoulders and forced himself to relax and continue the banter, just like he always did in tight situations. 

"Your gun. It's nice to see it, but I never thought I'd be at its business end," Ray shook his head woefully. "How many people have you killed with it?" 

Ray got no reaction out of the killer, and he suddenly felt like his chances of survival were rapidly diminishing. He was lucky enough to have lasted this long face to face with the real, actual freaking Vagabond, but he was ready to cut his losses. Ray had known for a long time it might end up like this, despite his last couple of sentences. 

Oh, shit. Last sentences. These could be the last words he's ever spoken, and suddenly the whole situation felt a lot more real. A vicious killer- the infamous Vagabond, face paint and all- was pointing a gun mere inches from his head. Ray wondered briefly if he could be quick enough to grab the gun from the man's hands before he shot him, but Ray decided that would be his last ditch effort. His plan 'Z', if A, B, or C didn't quite work. 

"I appreciate your humor, but now isn't really the time, is it?" The Vagabond asked sweetly, making his point clear by pressing the gun to Ray's forehead. "Cut the bullshit and tell me what you're going on about, or things will not end nicely for you." 

"I disagree. Now is the perfect time for humor, because I don't think things will end nicely for me whether I tell you or not." 

Ray might be pushing his boundaries a little bit, but man if he didn't love the rush of adrenaline that came with running his mouth in the face of death. 

The Vagabond stared at him with narrow eyes.Then he finally withdrew his gun away from Ray's head. Police sirens could be heard wailing in the far distance, and Ray took a few seconds to be really, really grateful to still be alive despite his snark. 

"Oh, man. For a second there I thought you were going to-" 

Another gun shot erupted, loud and ringing in Ray's ears. He looked down in disbelief at the hole in his purple hoodie, and the red that began to soak the outside of it. 

Ray slid down the wall carefully, wheezing as he pressed his hands to the hole. 

"You asshole. This was my favorite jacket." 

"Tell me what you meant or this time the bullet's going through your head. I mean it," the Vagabond hissed, crouching down to meet Ray's level. 

"No shit. You just put a hole in me," Ray mumbled, shaken but not very surprised. The man was a psychopath, and he just shot him in the fucking liver probably. 

"Answer the question," the Vagabond shot back. 

Ray was beginning to bleed all over the place. He cussed under his breath. As much as he liked being a piece of shit, taking a bullet to the abdomen hurt like a fucking bitch, but Ray had had enough. He'd already been shot and was probably bleeding to death, so plan Z it was. It wasn't like he had much to lose. 

"I'm your soulmate, you jackass," Ray snarled as he gathered up his strength and pounced at the criminal, succeeding in knocking the gun out of his hands. 

There was a brief moment where the two scuffled, scrambling for the weapon, but the Vagabond easily overpowered Ray, tackling him to the ground. Ray struggled viciously, and ended up getting a good punch to the criminal's face as well as biting the other man's arm with a sense of satisfaction as the Vagabond yelped from his attack. 

But Ray's little victory was short lived, as the Vagabond finally successfully pinned Ray, grabbing his handgun and promptly shooting him in the arm. 

"Fuck!" Ray cried out in pain, and finally fell limp under the criminal's tight hold. 

There was a long pause as Ray suffered silently, the Vagabond trying to catch his breath from the wrestle. 

"...you're not my soulmate." The Vagabond stated, but he asked it more like a question, clearly taken aback from the whole situation. 

"Surprise... jazz hands," Ray said weakly, emphasis on his left hand which now branded the fully colored gun on his palm. 

The Vagabond caught sight of it, catching Ray's wrist in his hand as he examined it. Ray winced at the Vagabond's tight grip on his wounded arm, and couldn't help but watch as the man quickly rolled off of Ray, pulling the waistband of his jeans down just far enough to expose what Ray assumed to be his soul mark- a blood red rose stamped just above his right hip bone. 

"Holy shit," Ray heard the Vagabond say somewhere to his right. 

"Why don't you just kill me already?" Ray asked sullenly, as a single tear slid from one of his eyes. He felt empty, exhausted from the fight and desperately trying to blink the fuzziness from his eyes. At some point he gave up, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he focused on breathing shallow breaths. 

Suddenly there was the screeching of tires as the killer's ride seemed to have finally arrived. 

There was some shouting, but Ray didn't really pay attention. 

He kept his eyes shut tight, unable to really say anything at this point, but that was okay, because he didn't have anything to say. He was starting to get really cold, which he knew couldn't be right- he was just fiery hot not even minutes ago. 

He wondered if he was going into shock, but found he didn't care that much. 

All this waiting to finally run into his soul mate, and the fucker shoots him. 

Twice. 

There's some more shouting, and Ray feels someone lift him up. 

He really hopes that some angel was finally here to take him away from all the pain.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I'm back with another chapter! Holy shit you guys, this fanfic blew up way more than I expected it to. Anyways, due to high demand, I finished this chapter in pretty good time. Hope you all enjoy it just as much as you did the first, and let me know what you think in the comments below! ^^

Ray came to hate the 6th of April when he was a child. 

It wasn't that he had anything against months or numbers in particular. 

No, it was because every damn public school in his district was to celebrate Soulmate Day. 

In elementary school, teachers held contests, guessing games, and parents brought in batches of heart shaped cookies and other treats. 

Ray didn't think that part of Soulmate day was so bad, because it meant he could steal a platter of sweets when no one was looking and munch on them happily in a corner. 

What made it bad was the dreaded Show and Tell. 

Teachers gave students the option to go up in front of the class and show off their soul mark, and read aloud a short story they had written based off their prediction of how they'll meet their soulmate. 

There were awards and prizes given to the best story teller, and Ray decided what the heck, he'd give it a try one year. 

But just before he could show his mark and tell everyone about his soulmate (who was definitely some sort of super hero who used weapons and gadgets like Batman) when his teacher pulled him to the side and told him he couldn't, because his mark encouraged violence, and there was a school policy against weapons or something or other, blah blah blah...

Ray remembered clenching his left hand for the whole rest of the day. 

He tried not to worry about it, because he knew that him and his soulmate were meant to be and nothing else should matter. 

Ray skipped school on April 6th every year after that. 

\---

When Ray woke up, he couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed. 

Sure, he was definitely grateful to be alive, but he wasn't sure if it was worth the pain he was in right now. He just wanted to go back to sleep... 

But then the previous events that Ray had experienced came rushing back on him, and he forced himself to deal with his reality. 

He opened his eyes blearily and at first, with a rush of horror, he thought he had been blinded, but after blinking rapidly a few more times he realized it was just night time. 

Light seeped from between the blinds of the window on the far wall across from him, and as Ray's eyes finally adjusted to the dark, he sighed in relief. 

He must be in a hospital, he decided, according to the hospital bed he was laid upon, as well as the IV needle sticking out of his arm. He looked up at the bag and felt a little sick at the contents; he was getting a blood transfusion. 

There was a chair to the right of his bed, but it was empty. 

Ray reached very carefully to the bedside dresser he had spotted earlier, snatching his glasses off the top and threw them on his face. Next came the hard part. 

He very slowly began easing himself into a sitting position, the f word dropping from his lips every time he twisted his body around. 

"Note to self: don't get shot again," he exhaled quietly. His stomach grew queasy at the thought that he had even been shot in the first place, but decided to worry about that later, taking another glance around his room. 

His purple hoodie was hanging up on a coat rack in the corner by the door, and Ray was slightly relieved to see it had survived some of the mess. 

He squinted up at the clock on the wall, but it was too dark to make out the hands. 

Ray narrowed his eyes as he looked around. For some reason, everything felt a little off. Where was the nurse? And why was he wearing the same shirt he had been wearing when he had gotten shot, and not a hospital gown? 

And finally, that was when Ray's eyes fell upon the vase, sitting innocently on the table top of his little bedside dresser, with a bouquet of red roses looking rather worse for wear. 

The same bundle of roses he had dropped when he first locked eyes with his soul mate. 

The same roses that filled with the same blood red color, just above the infamous Vagabond's right hip bone. 

As quickly as he could, Ray ripped the IV from his wrist, preparing himself mentally for the pain as he threw his bare legs over the side of his bed. He was thankfully still wearing the same boxers, and the wooden floor was freezing on his bare feet. 

Walking proved to be a major challenge, but his body coursed with adrenaline, so he could barely feel the throb of his wounds. 

The wounds caused by his soulmate, a well known murderer and possible psychopath. 

Ray didn't care much for stealth, because all he wanted to do was distance himself from this place, as far as he could go. He opened the door quickly and turned down hall, which led to a surprisingly modern looking home. 

Not really the house Ray would've guessed for a killer, but he wasn't going to stick around to question it. 

Cradling his wounded arm to his chest and walking as smoothly as he could not to upset his possibly punctured liver, Ray stumbled towards what looked to be the front door. His hand had almost reached the knob before the lights in the living room flickered on, catching him in the act. 

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a light but rather sinister voice said, and it shook Ray down to his soul. His hand hovered over then door knob, but no matter how much he didn't want to, he turned to look behind him. 

For a second, Ray was completely disoriented. The voice had definitely belonged to the Vagabond, but Ray was staring at a man in plaid pajama bottoms and a soft looking green cotton t shirt. He still had on his face paint, but it was looking a little smeared. 

He was also casually flipping a throwing knife from hand to hand. 

Ray was already sweating in anticipation of probably being tortured and killed by the sick fuck across the room from him. Possibly while he was still in his comfortable looking pajamas. 

"Do you always sleep with your face paint on?" 

The Vagabond's eyes widened, and he brought his hand to his face as if to check if he was actually still wearing it. 

Ray would have found it comical if he wasn't completely afraid for his life. Instead, he took that moment to get the hell out of there. 

Catching the Vagabond completely off guard, Ray finally grabbed the door handle and ripped it open, hauling ass out of the house as quickly as he could. 

\---

Ryan shook his head as he watched his soulmate take off into the night, wondering how everything in his life at come up to this moment. His mind nagged at him to follow the kid, but he knew he wasn't going to get far. They were, after all, in one of the many safe houses of the Fake AH crew scattered across the city, and the one Ryan took them to was in a very secluded forest up on Mt. Chiliad. 

"What the fuck, Ryan?" 

Opening the front door had triggered the safe house's alarm system, and now everyone who had assisted Ryan on his mini heist were awake. 

Michael, the man behind the wheel of the speedy getaway burst out of his room, tense and ready for action, followed by his soulmate Gavin, his back up during the operation. 

"It's bloody three in the morning, Ryan! Unless the cops are on our doorstep then-" 

"Oh, shit," Michael said, interrupting Gavin as he stared at the front door, still hanging wide open. 

"He took off, didn't he?" 

Ryan nodded curtly, leaning against the armrest of the couch as he fiddled with his knife sullenly. 

"Yeah, that tends to happen when you shoot your own damn soulmate," Gavin said bitterly, rubbing his shoulder as if it were still hurt from his own old wounds, turning back into his room with a huff. 

"I keep telling you, that was an accident! Maybe I wouldn't have shot you if you hadn't have gotten in the way!" Michael yelled over his shoulder. 

By then, the last Fake AH member had finally walked into the room: the crew's one and only medic, Caleb, who Ryan had called over to help patch up his soulmate. 

His soulmate. 

The dumbass who was probably ripping open his stitches as he was running away. 

"He's going to tear his stitches," Caleb vocalized Ryan's thoughts. 

Ryan gave a long sigh and finally threw his knife at the opposing wall, straightening up and mumbling, 

"I'll go get him." 

\---

Apparently opening the door had triggered some sort of alarm, but that was the least of Ray's concerns. 

He ran down the drive way and came upon an unkept dirt road. Ray veered away from the path and stumbled into the forest surrounding the house, picking a random direction and hobbled for freedom. 

After about two minutes of pushing hard, Ray slowed to a limp, and then a pained shamble, cradling his wounded arm to his chest. His burst of energy was starting to wear off, and he was pretty sure someone had lit his side on fire. 

Finally unable to push himself any further, Ray leaned against the nearest tree, doubling over. 

"Man, I'm gonna be totally sick," he groaned to himself. 

He pressed his hand gingerly against his stomach and his hand came back red. 

"Aww, that can't be good," Ray once again groaned, beginning to feel clammy and sweaty as he tried to focus on his shoes. 

A twig snapped in front of him, and Ray looked up just in time to see the Vagabond slowly approaching him from a short distance. 

"Holy shit!" Ray yelped and almost fell backwards, immediately fast walking in the opposite direction. 

"How the fuck did he find me so quickly?" Ray mumbled to himself more than anyone else. 

"You left an easy trail to follow," the Vagabond called helpfully from somewhere behind him. 

Ray ignored him and pushed on, but his sense of urgency was diminishing. There was no way he was getting away from the experienced killer, and now tracker apparently. 

A couple of minutes passed as Ray plodded on. He was panting now, and blood soaked the front of his shirt. Everything hurt, but he kept going. 

"Are you going to stop anytime soon?" Ray's soulmate asked, dutifully keeping pace just behind him. 

"Never," Ray hissed back, fighting through his pain. 

But after some time and careful consideration (and some serious worry about his health), Ray finally slowed down to a stop. 

Dots spotted his vision, and he swayed as his ears started ringing. 

Ray was certain he was going to fall over, but as he began to tip, gentle hands caught him and led him carefully to the forest floor. 

When his vision and hearing finally cleared up, Ray was lying on the ground, and the Vagabond loomed over him- well, not quite. He was actually holding Ray's legs up in the air while he scanned the trees around them. Bits of his hair fell into his eyes when he looked back down at Ray. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" Ray asked groggily. He contemplated trying to kick him, but that demanded too much effort, so he continued to lay on the ground in a little pool of anger. 

"Keeping the blood from pooling in your legs. It's more important for the oxygen to get to your brain right now." 

"English, please." 

The Vagabond narrowed his eyes down at Ray, but Ray wasn't feeling as intimidated as before. For some reason, the Vagabond had kept him alive and hadn't completely castrated him yet, so Ray didn't hold back on giving him a little lip. 

"You lost a lot of blood. I'm holding your legs up so your blood circulates to your brain faster. You almost fainted just now because you didn't have enough blood in your head." 

"Well that's thanks to you, asshole," Ray retorted, and the Vagabond had the decency to at least look a little abashed, but the moment came as quickly as it went. 

"It's also thanks to me you're alive right now. You should feel lucky we have the same blood type." 

Ray's brain was slow to compute the information, but it finally clicked. 

"That was your blood? You gave me your blood?" 

Ray felt like he was being thrown in a loop. He closed his eyes and slid his arms off his stomach, laying them eagle spread on the hard ground. 

"I thought you were trying to kill me." 

"If I wanted you dead, you would have been dead the moment I saw you." 

Ray was still pretty unhappy and confused about the whole situation, but he was partially glad he didn't have to worry about his throat getting slit anytime soon. He had no idea what his soulmate's intentions were with him, but Ray's spirits were lifted. 

He wasn't going to get murdered in the woods, and that was something to be grateful for. 

"Well, uhh, thanks for not killing me I guess. And sharing your blood." 

The Vagabond gave him a slow nod, and then slowly lowered Ray's legs to the ground. 

Ray sighed, continuing to lay on the ground in a heap of misery. Every time he moved he felt like someone was poking fiery prods into his side. At least his arm was holding up- he hadn't ripped the stitches like he did his side. 

Then the Vagabond bent down and scooped Ray up bridal style before he could react. 

"Woah!" Ray yelped, struggling to loop his good arm around the man's neck. 

"Warn a guy before you go pulling crap like this!" His face burned red with embarrassment at being flush to the man's chest, and he began to struggle in his strong arms. 

"Stop that!" The Vagabond commanded, but Ray wiggled a few more times for good measure. 

"Put me down, I can walk myself!" 

"Fine," the Vagabond said shortly, seeming immensely frustrated with Ray. 

He dumped Ray on his feet and began walking on without him. After a few paces he turned back around to see Ray with a determined but pained look on his face, hobbling slowly and tripping over nothing. 

When Ray finally reached his soulmate, he didn't complain this time when the Vagabond picked him up again. 

As soon as Ray got over the initial embarrassment, being carried by the larger man wasn't half bad. In fact, it was almost kind of nice. He was warm, and held Ray tight so he wouldn't be jostled around as much as he walked briskly back to wherever he had escaped from. 

Ray hated that he felt safe and secure in a murderer's arms, and he hated that he liked the scent of his shirt. He clenched his left fist, blaming his feelings on those stupid fucking mysterious forces that decided who got paired up with who. 

Worn out from his angst, Ray was beginning to nod off to the soft footsteps of his soulmate when something occurred to him, shaking him wide awake. 

"How did you know my blood type?" 

"I know much more than just your blood type, Ray." 

Ray shivered in a mixture of horror and pleasure hearing his name drip from his soulmate's lips, in that low baritone voice. 

Fuck, he was so screwed. He was so completely and utterly screwed. 

He really didn't want to be falling for this guy- he still didn't even know his name, let alone the fact he was the most wanted man in the city for crimes against humanity. 

But it was too late. Destiny had completely fucked him over, and even after getting shot twice by this man, Ray was literally being swept off his feet. 

When they finally made it back to the house, the alarm was shut off and all the lights were out. The Vagabond quickly punched in a passcode to the door and it opened silently. 

Ray didn't argue as he was laid back down on his bed, and was uncharacteristically silent as his soulmate carefully unwrapped his bandages and replaced them with new ones. 

He stayed quiet even when a new person entered the room, quickly reattaching Ray to a new bag of liquid and leaving just as soon as he came. 

"Hey- uh, Vagabond. Wait," Ray said groggily just as his soulmate began to slip out of the room. 

Now his blue eyes were trained on him, and Ray had a hard time focusing his thoughts. 

"Why haven't you killed me already?" 

A ghost of a smile played on the Vagabond's lips, and he laughed quietly as if sharing a joke with himself. 

"The name's Ryan. Not Vagabond." 

And then, apparently 'Ryan' slipped out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween everybody!! Dear god, I am so sorry that this chapter came so late. Midterms hit me like a bus. Anyone else who also went through midterms, fucking Godspeed man. Godspeed. But don't worry, because I'm back with an extra long chapter, so please sit back and enjoy! 
> 
> p.s. please tell me if you see mistakes so i can fix them c:

Ray spent the next two days either eating, sleeping, or crawling up the walls in boredom. 

On the bright side, his bullet wounds were healing up better than expected. As it turns out, either the Vagabond had incredible aim and missed all his major organs and bones, or Ray was god damn lucky. Due to his misfortune lately, Ray was betting on the former. 

Not that it wouldn't take more than a few months to completely recover, but it looked like he would eventually heal one day. 

With that major concern out of the way, Ray found himself dreading every minute of his existence. 

The only social interaction he was granted were the minutes Caleb would come in and check up on him, or when someone would brought food to his room. The only source of entertainment left to him was a large stack of old books piled in the corner. 

Of course, Ray did kind of bring that on himself. After being brought back by Ryan the first time he tried to escape, he ran away every chance he got. 

Twice he tried running through the front door when they (foolishly) allowed him free range around the house, and another time when he wiggled out the tiny bathroom window when he was supposed to be taking a shower. 

Each time he had been caught rather quickly. They had found it funny at first, like a twisted take on 'The Most Dangerous Game', but apparently it was obnoxious tracking him down in the woods late at night, or having to watch his every move 24/7. 

So, he was locked in his room until further notice, like how an annoyed owner stuffed a dog in a kennel. 

That wasn't far off from what was happening to him, Ray thought miserably. 

The Vagabond had picked up a stray off the streets and took him home, locked him up and only let him out when he needed to go to the bathroom, and fed him exactly three times a day. On the dot. 

Speaking of, the clock was just about to strike 5:00, which meant dinner. 

Ray abandoned the windowsill (he spent the majority of his time messing with the lock and trying to get it open without the key, but it was pointless without tools) and grabbed one of the dozens of books he had been supplied and tried to focus on the words, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. 

The door knob rattled as someone unlocked it, and the door opened smoothly. 

His captor stood in the doorway, looking casual as ever in a t-shirt and freaking dad jeans. He could almost pass for normal, but the paint, which he apparently never took off, still covered his face. It was very off putting, but Ray was more thrown off by the fact that he wasn't holding a tray of food like he always did at this time. 

"What are you reading?" 

Ray pointedly took his time to answer, sticking his finger in his mouth seductively, sucking on it before popping it from his lips, and then used it to flip the page. 

"Moby Dick," he responded with emphasis on the second word. 

Ryan crossed his arms, once more looking unamused at Ray's antics. Sure, it was a little immature, but Ray wanted to get a rise out of him, or some sort of reaction at least. If he was going to be stuck here for the rest of his days, he hoped his soulmate had to at least share his sense of humor, but it seemed not. 

That is, until he finally smiled, leaning against the doorframe in a relaxed posture. 

"Oh yeah? Are you enjoying it?" 

Ray looked up from his book and grinned at him, happy that he finally hooked the usually expressionless man. 

"Hell yeah I am. I love Dick." 

"Really? Because you're holding it upside down." 

Genuinely surprised, Ray looked down at the book in his hands, which he had indeed been holding upside down. The surprise must've been evident on his face, because the next thing that happened nearly stopped Ray's heart. 

Ryan began laughing. 

And not just the quiet, scary chuckles Ray had heard on the occasion, but full out laughing. 

"That's just how I read!" Ray tried defending himself, but it just sent Ryan into further hysterics. 

Ray tossed the book at Ryan, who caught it effortlessly, opening the book and skimming through the pages with a quiet, content hum. 

Ray lowered himself gently so he was laying flat on his back, his legs hanging off the side of the bed, toes tapping the ground, absentmindedly tracing the outline of his soul mark on his palm with his finger. It was almost shocking how well the silence sat between them, as if there was nothing fucked up about their current situation at hand, like it was a normal Sunday evening. 

Ray watched Ryan flip the pages and took in his appearance. His blondish hair looked fluffy today instead of the slicked back version Ray was used to, like he had recently showered and blow dried his hair. He had the urge to thread his fingers through it, hold on tight and kiss him senseless- 

Ray quickly closed his eyes. He didn't want to accept the fact that he was possibly developing Stockholm Syndrome, but the situation was quickly spiraling out of control and Ray found himself caring a little less every day. 

The bed suddenly dipped with added weight, and Ray jumped a bit, his eyes snapping open to see Ryan seated on the far side of his bed. 

"I have a proposal for you." 

Ray's heart rate spiked, as his brown eyes grew impossibly wide. Despite his evidently growing fondness of the man, Ray was still nowhere near any kind of damn "proposal". 

"Woah, woah, hold on! I don't know you, and just because we're soulmates doesn't mean- I'm not ready for that, I-" 

"Shut up. I meant you can come out and hang with us for the rest of the night as long as you promise not to run away again." Ryan face palmed with one hand, rubbing his temples and smearing his face paint a little. 

"Oh. Oh, right. Okay, I promise," Ray said quickly. His face felt red hot as he hopped off the bed and tried to escape out the door. Just as he was crossing the threshold, Ryan caught his wrist and pulled him back in, backing Ray against the wall. 

"Hey-!" 

"Just so we're clear," Ryan hissed into his ear, and Ray bit his tongue to keep from making any inappropriate noises. 

"It doesn't matter to me that we're soulmates. This mark?" Ryan squeezed Ray's left wrist, his icy blue eyes boring holes down into Ray. 

"It doesn't mean anything to me. Don't assume I want anything to do with you. Got it?" 

"Sheesh, alright, honest mistake!" 

Ryan gradually released his grip on Ray and stalked out of the room. 

"Holy shit." 

Ray took a minute to catch his breath, wincing as he gently stretched out his arm. He rubbed away the finger marks on his wrist and shook his head, trailing after his so called soulmate. 

"Crazy mother fucker," Ray couldn't help but mutter to himself. Although, he would be lying if he said he hadn't been a little turned on being held up against the wall like that. 

Man he was so fucked up. 

\---

When Ray finally composed himself and entered the living room, the atmosphere took a turn for the better. 

Michael and Gavin were sitting on the couch and playing Halo 3, whooping and shoving each other, looking like they had had enough to drink as he noted the bottles littering the floor. There was also a girl Ray hadn't seen before observing and laughing at the duo. 

For a second, Ray was confused by the lack of Caleb, but remembered that the medic had split that morning to be on his way. He left Ray with instructions on how to make a fast recovery, and took off. 

And finally there was Ryan, who seemed determined to be as antisocial as possible, busying himself in the kitchen with dinner. 

"Hey, its X-Ray!" Gavin shouted, sloshing his beer on Michael, and in turn Michael whapped him over the head, to which Gavin squawked. 

"Sup Ray. What's the escape plan for tonight?" Michael asked but didn't look up, keeping his eyes focused on the screen, mashing the buttons on his controller aggressively. 

"Was going to attempt steal a spoon. Maybe tunnel my way out of here," Ray shrugged warily. 

His comment sent the two into excessive laughter, which Ray thought was a little much but smiled nonetheless. 

He didn't know the two lads very well, other than the fact they were soulmates, had no decency whatsoever when it came to PDA, and that they were a part of the Fakes. 

He recognized Michael pretty quickly as the infamous Mogar, best known for his extensive knowledge on deadly explosives. The guy could also pack a punch, and Ray certainly never wanted to be the object of his rage. He didn't know how Gavin was still able to laugh when Michael was screaming obscurities at him. 

Gavin was a little harder to pin down, but Ray had overheard the other day that he was Ramsey's Golden Boy, or otherwise known as Vav. He didn't really have a particular skill set, but he was unpredictable and damn lucky. There had to be some sort of reason he was in with the Fake AH Crew, but Ray had yet to know. 

Also, Ray didn't particularly care. His main concern was still getting the hell out of dodge. While it was very entertaining to watch them interact, it made him wary to be around them. 

Caught up in his thoughts, Ray almost missed that the girl laughing at the pair was looking at him. He made brief eye contact and quickly looked away, but it was too late. She crossed to stand next to Ray behind the main couch, observing Michael and Gavin play their game. 

"Hey, I'm Lindsay," she greeted him kindly, and Ray scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. He was never any good at talking to girls. 

"Hi." 

Completely unfazed by Ray's awkwardness, she continued on. 

"I'm the one who's been taking care of your stuff while you've been gone. Although... I might've already accidentally killed about half of your plants," she said with a wince, but Ray perked up instantly. 

"You've been taking care of my plants? What about my apartment? I think the rent was due two days ago." 

"Your apartment, yes. Everything's paid for, except you might be missing some food from your fridge. Your plants, not so much. I don't know the first thing about taking care of them."

Ray felt like his whole body could collapse from relief. For four whole days, he had had no contact with the outside world. He imagined his shop and apartment had probably been ransacked, or completely burned to the ground, or maybe...

"Am I... on any sort of missing persons list?" Ray lowered his voice, looking anxiously over his shoulder at Ryan, who still had his back turned to Ray, busy messing with something on the stove. 

Lindsay followed his movement and bit her lip. 

"...Sorry, Ray. But hey, cheer up! You aren't going to be stuck here forever. And even though he may be a little daunting, Ryan cares a lot about you. He's still trying to figure out what to do with you." 

Ray felt a jab of frustration. He could ever get any information out of these people. The only things he knew where things he had picked up, or when he eavesdropped by sitting on the floor right next to his door. He wanted to ask her to clarify, but she probably didn't know any better than he did. 

Suddenly, Gavin scored a lucky hit on Michael and jumped into the air with a whoop of excitement. 

"Suck my knob!" He shouted enthusiastically as Michael looked ready to boil over the edge. Gavin grabbed Lindsay's shoulders in an awkward drunken hug and noogied her head in celebration.

"Gavin! You're ruining my hair!" Lindsay shrieked, and Michael tackled the British man onto the floor, wrestling for his controller. 

Ray observed as Lindsay let her hair down, tugging the pony tail out as well as pulling out a few bobby pins, smacking them on the side table and starting cheering on the fight. 

Taking a quick glance around the room, Ray swiped the bobby pins and tucked them in his pocket. He was about to retreat a safe distance away to take a seat at one of the kitchen barstools when Michael shouted behind him, making him jump a mile. 

"Ray! Or should I say 'BrownMan'? My sources tell me you have a ridiculously high gamer score, which I have a hard time believing. Prove your skills! I challenge you to a match!" Michael declared valiantly, ripping the controller out of Gavin's hands and offering it to Ray. 

Ray let out the breath he had been holding. He thought for a moment Michael had noticed Ray steal the bobby pins. Realizing he was acting way out of character, Ray rolled back his uninjured shoulder. 

"You guys must be my biggest fans. Want an autograph?" 

Michael thrust the controller at Ray impatiently, too fired up to care about responding. 

"How the fuck do you guys know so much about me, anyway?" Ray said as he finally gave into Michael's insistent badgering, settling down on the couch and gripping the controller tightly as he started the match. 

"Extensive background checks!" 

Gavin pipped up helpfully from where Michael left him on the floor. 

\---

Turns out, maybe crushing Michael 1v1 in Halo wasn't exactly the best idea. 

After his fourth consecutive win in a row, Michael ripped the controller back out of his hands and threw it at the opposing wall, leaving a dent and a most definitely broken controller. 

Gavin and Lindsay burst into uncontrollable laughter as Michael raged, and Ray abandoned ship before Michael could turn his frustration on Ray himself. 

He made it to the kitchen unscathed, sliding onto one of the barstools under the kitchen island to watch Ryan put his finishing touches on the enchiladas he had been making for at least the past hour or so. 

Ray watched as Ryan checked his phone one last time and set it face up on the island top, plopping one of the enchiladas onto a paper plate, sliding it over to Ray. 

Stomach rumbling, Ray folded one of the ends and picked it up in both hands, taking an impossibly large bite and moaning in delight around the lovingly crafted piece of art. 

"Holy shit, I didn't know you could cook," Ray mumbled around a mouthful of food. 

"What do you think you've been eating this whole time?" 

Ray looked up and got caught in Ryan's icy blue stare, and Ray stared right back, raising his eyebrows as he sank his teeth once more into the burrito-like food. 

They had a staring contest for what seemed like forever, until Ray gave an open mouth smile to Ryan after taking a large bite of food. 

Ryan finally looked away in disgust, stacking the rest of the enchiladas on a plate in the middle of the counter for the lads plus Lindsay. "Where the hell are your manners?" 

"I left them at the door," he mumbled around another mouthful of food. 

Ray made quick work of the enchilada, finally swallowing the last bite and licking some of the spilled fluids off his fingers. 

"Jesus Ray, you sucked that thing up like a vacuum," Gavin observed, grabbing two enchiladas and retreating back to the couch where Michael was laying face down, now looking sadly subdued. 

Ray shrugged, eyeing the remaining enchiladas. "That's just what happens when you grow up poor in New York City." 

The words seemed to strike a chord in Ryan, because he was now observing Ray with prying eyes. 

Ray just shrugged again, but looked absolutely delighted as Ryan pushed another enchilada in Ray's direction, who happily accepted it and began munching again, but this time in a much more paced fashion. 

\---

Ray was about halfway through eating (and enjoying) his second enchilada when it happened. 

Ryan's phone, which had been left sitting innocently on the counter, began ringing. 

Ryan was busy washing his hands in the sink, seeming to be in no sort of hurry to answer it. 

Ray looked at the phone. Then at Ryan. Then back at the phone. 

Ryan must've sensed something was wrong, because he turned in that moment to see Ray's hand hovering over the phone. Their eyes met, and Ryan gave the tiniest shake of his head. Ray glared defiantly back at Ryan. 

Making a split second decision, Ray lunged forward and grabbed for it the same time as Ryan cursed, who was barely a smidgen too late. 

Ray fell off his chair in a mad scramble to get away from Ryan, who had started rushing around the island, but Ray counteracted his movement and kept the murderous man directly opposite of him, finally pushing 'answer'. 

"This is Ray Narvaez Jr., and I regret to inform you that the person you are trying to reach is a homocidal maniac-!" Ray managed to get out before Ryan took him by surprise, lunging to the right around the island. Ray lurched right as well, keeping the solid counter between them at all times. 

"I'm being held hostage somewhere on Mt. Chiliad by-" 

Ray cut off as Ryan once again started chasing him around the island. He feigned left, then right, and they made one more full loop around the island before Ray abandoned the counter and took off down the hall towards the bathroom, where he hoped he could lock himself inside and call 911. 

"The Vagabond, who's going to fucking kill me for this-!" 

Ray made it as far as the bathroom door before hopes were dashed as the Vagabond easily closed the distance on him, shoving him harshly into the bathroom and following him in, closing the door behind them and locking them in. 

For a second, all that could be heard were the ragged breathing between Ray and Ryan as they struggled to catch their breath. 

Then, caterwauling laughter erupted from the phone's speakers, and Ray could hear it even when Ryan ripped the phone from his hands and held it up to his ear, pushing his blonde hair out of his eyes. 

When it finally died down, the laughing voice on the other side of the phone croaked, 

"Oh, man. Was that him?" 

"...Yeah," Ryan finally said, fixing his angry blue eyes onto Ray, who was beginning to realize that stealing Ryan's phone may not have been the best idea. 

"Holy shit, he's a riot! Oh my god, Ryan, you've got your hands full with this one!" The voice cracked up into spontaneous laughter once more, and Ryan continued to burn holes through Ray with his eyes. 

The laughing subsided once more, and the man was finally able to speak again. 

"Can he hear me?" 

"Yeah." 

"Good. I want to meet him. As soon as the authorities calm down from the mini heist, bring him to the penthouse for a little visit." 

If Ryan didn't look mad earlier, he looked absolutely furious now. 

"Geoff, that's not going to happen. I-" 

"No buts. I know what you've been up to, but I changed my mind. I want to meet him, and so does Jack. I've heard good things about him from the lads." 

"Geoff, no." In a lower voice, Ryan turned his back on Ray and says into the phone, "He's already in this too deep." 

"Exactly, dumbass, which is why I want to meet him before you have your way with him." 

The man's words sent a horrifying chill down Ray's spine, and he swallowed and tried not to let the fear that was brewing in his stomach rise to his outer complex. 

"Look, Geoff, this isn't going to work. Can we talk about this?" Ryan looked beyond frustrated. 

"We just did," Ray heard the sassy voice cackle, and promptly hang up. 

Ryan slowly brought the phone down from his ear, not quite looking at Ray as he clenched his fists. The bathroom wasn't very large, and Ray was feeling quite small seeing as Ryan took up most of the space. 

Although Ray was pretty sure he was in deep shit already, and it would probably be best if he just shut his trap incase Ryan was deciding whether or not to strangle the life out of him in that moment. But hey, what was Ray if it weren't for his one-liners? 

"So uhh... who was that?" 

Ryan finally seemed to snap. His usually calm composure was entirely ripped apart as he ran his hand through his hair angrily. 

"Do you have any idea what you've just done to yourself?" 

Ray twiddled his fingers together, unable for once to think up a quick response that wasn't lame. 

Thankfully, he didn't have to, because Ryan continued on his rant. 

"You just dug yourself into a hole. Your own grave, more like. God damn it, why do you have to be so stubborn?" 

Something about Ryan's tone ignited Ray's own anger. 

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I was fucking kidnapped? I'm not just going to sit here and take it while you assholes have your way with me. Screw you, man. Screw-" 

Apparently fed up with him, Ryan grabbed him by the upper arm (luckily the not wounded one) and pulled him out of the bathroom. 

Ray dragged his heels every step of the way, fighting against Ryan's grip as the stronger man pulled him into the room down the hall- the room that Ray had identified as Ryan's. 

Ryan shoved him into the dark room and Ray expected the worst: dead bodies littering the ground, blood splatters up the walls, torture tools lying about. Fucking needles even. 

But when Ryan flicks on the light, all that makes up the room is a small twin bed and a desk, where papers lie haphazardly in piles. 

Ryan shut the door behind them and once more took hold of Ray's arm and hauled him over to the desk. 

"Let go!" Ray pawed at Ryan's hand, trying to get him to release his tight grip, to which Ryan finally complied, but he didn't leave Ray's side, hovering dangerously close by. 

"You want to know what I'm going to do to you?" Ryan asked slowly, smoothly, and Ray bit his lip as his stomach flipped in his gut. 

"Go ahead, take a look." Ryan gestured down, and very slowly, Ray turned his attention down to the desk nervously. For a few seconds, Ray's eyes glossed over the papers, overwhelmed, but then he caught sight of something familiar. 

"...what the hell?" 

Ray's wallet, along with his keys to his shop- which had been missing since his kidnapping- sat among the documents. He picked up his wallet and looked inside, eyes widening with surprise. 

"Fake IDs?" 

"No, real IDs. It took some time, but Ray Narvaez Jr. virtually doesn't exist anymore. It took some time, but you're now almost impossible to trace." 

Ray shot Ryan a surprised look, letting the wallet plop back onto the table. Ryan gestured to the desk, as if it held more clues. 

Ray let his eyes wander over the mess of papers when he then spotted the plane ticket. Picking it up to examine it closer, it read the same fake name as the one printed on his so called license. The dates on the tickets read Thursday- barely from then. His eyes went wide. 

"Holy shit. Switzerland? You're sending me to fucking Switzerland??" 

There was a large pause, where Ryan smiled dryly. 

"Not anymore. My boss decided he likes you, due to your little stunt back there, and now he wants to meet you." 

"Why Switzerland?!" 

Ryan crouched down a little so he was eye level with Ray, so close that Ray could feel the puff of his breath on his face. 

"Because you're the soulmate of the most wanted criminal in the state of California- hell, maybe even in the whole nation. If the police found out who you are- and who says they haven't already- you'd be accused on the spot, and shot dead later, along with the rest of the crew," Ryan growled. "I have millions of dollars over my head, and thousands of people want my head on a stick, which means they'll want your head on a stick, too." 

Ray gulped, backing into the desk and clutching the edges with white knuckles as Ryan started to creep towards him, closing the distance between them. 

"You aren't safe here. You never will be safe again. And now-" 

Ryan cut off angrily, looking to the side. He finally leaned away from Ray, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

"I still don't get it. Why do you even bother?" Ray groaned, bringing his hands to his face. 

"I know you. You're the god damn Vagabond for fucks sake, you kill people and- and probably fucking enjoy it! You made it clear earlier you couldn't give less of a shit that we're soulmates. So why don't you just kill me??" 

Ryan had an impassive look on his face as he stood up from the bed. Ray watched between his fingers as Ryan crossed the room towards him, until he stood right in front of him. 

Very gently- the most gentle Ryan had ever been with him- he pulled Ray's hands away from his face and held Ray's hand, closely examining the 9mm pistol etched into his palm. 

Ray could hardly think. Ryan's hands were warm, and that was the only thing running through his head. 

But as soon as it came, the moment passed. Ryan dropped Ray's hands quickly, as if he had been burned, and pushed past him to rustle through the drawers of the desk, producing fingerless black gloves and handing them to Ray. 

"To keep you safe," Ryan said somewhat distractedly, and Ray frowned down at them. 

Ryan left the room quickly after that, and Ray was still staring at the stupid gloves. 

Instead of putting them on, he stuffed them in his pockets, snagging his wallet and the keys to his shop and apartment off the desk and pocketing them as well. 

He didn't look good with fingerless gloves anyway. 

\---

Ray excused himself to his room for the rest of the night. Gavin had whined at him under the crack of his door, but Ray ignored him until he went away (which took a surprisingly long amount of time. the bastard was determined, he'll give him that.) 

It didn't take long for the house to settle down for the night, but Ray stayed awake, letting his insomnia take over as he fidgeted in bed for well over an hour. 

When Ray finally believed the time was right, he hopped out of his bed, procuring the bobby pins he had stolen from Lindsay from his pocket and heading for the window. 

It took a long time- longer than Ray would like to admit, and hey, he was rusty- but he was finally able to pick the lock. 

Pushing the window open, Ray lowered himself out of the house, dropping to the ground. He paused, taking in the cool night air with a much appreciated deep breath.  
Except for accidentally knocking his injured arm into the house, he was home free. 

He made for a comfortable pace, trying not to overdo himself. He even went out of his way to keep from leaving any noticeable tracks for them to follow incase they realized he was missing before morning. 

Despite finally achieving freedom, worry still weighed deep in Ray's heart as he tromped through the trees, heading in the direction he believed was Los Santos. Ryan's words had stuck in his head, and it was true that he was in danger. 

But at this point, Ray didn't think it mattered much. No matter what he did, he would be in danger, so he might as well go back to doing what he knew. 

He didn't know a god damn thing about Switzerland, that was for sure.


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellloooo! :D I am back with another chapter! I'm so sorry this one took so long but it's 6,000+ words so (ง'̀-'́)ง 
> 
> Also! I was wondering what you guys would think about me creating a tumblr blog where I accept short lil Raywood prompts to improve my writing (anything posted there would also be posted here). Let me know in the comments if you'd be interested in sending me prompts and stuff and I'll let you know by the next chapter whether or not I'll do it
> 
> (im still but a lowly college student mucking my way through life, so I'm not even sure if I'll have time to take prompts n'stuff but idk! We'll see ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯)

Ray was sitting behind the counter of his shop, piled up in a giant gray hoodie, tinkering away on his coral pink 3DS. 

He pushed his glasses up his nose as he mashed the buttons. His feet were kicked up on the counter as he leaned dangerously far back in his chair, licking his lips as he traversed the Safari Zone with care. 

He had to admit, Pokémon LeafGreen was a cute game. He was genuinely upset he never got ahold of a cartridge of it when he was a kid, but that didn't mean he still couldn't enjoy it as an adult. 

He was so immersed in his game he nearly fell backwards in his chair as something shattered outside in the back. 

Rubbing his sweaty hands on his pants, Ray grabbed the baseball bat he had tucked away under the counter and crept towards the back door, slowly pushing it open to peek outside. 

He nearly let out a (very manly) shriek when the flimsy door was ripped from his hands, banging against the side of his shop from the harsh winds. 

His eyes scanned his mini courtyard and greenhouse tensely, sighing in relief when he saw the broken pot on the ground. One of his hanging plants had simply fallen off its hook due to the summer storm. He frowned at the mess of dirt and roots, shaking his head. 

Thunder crackled in the distance, but Ray didn't see any lightning. Dark clouds swirled angrily overhead, and he loosened his grip on his baseball bat and backed into the safety of his shop. He could clean up the mess later. He locked the door behind him, triple checking to make sure it was really locked. 

He returned to his desk and attempted to resume playing his game, but he couldn't shake the chills he felt running throughout his body. 

Unable to sit still, Ray milled about his shop until he reached the front window, peering out to watch the first few drops of summer rain fall from the sky and hit the cement. 

He watched his breath puff up the window as sheets of rain began dumping down on Los Santos. He let his forehead fall against the cool glass, closing his eyes and listening to the patter of the rain. 

It had been over thirty six hours since he had miraculously escaped from the Vagabond and Co. 

Thirty six hours that had come and gone, and nothing had happened. 

Granted, a large majority of that time consisted of Ray crashing at his apartment and sleeping his way well into the next day after hitch-hiking his way off Mt. Chiliad, but Ray was shocked no one had come to cart him away again. 

No police, no Fakes. No one who wants to put his head on a stick. 

Well, that wasn't entirely true. 

It was hard not to notice someone in dark, nondescript clothes trailing behind him as he made his usual walk from his apartment to his shop, or how the same expensive car rolled by his shop about four times that day. 

It was the Fakes. Or definitely Ryan, at least, lurking just out of his field of vision. It reminded him of a shark circling an unfortunate life raft. 

Why they didn't approach him yet and sink his metaphorical boat, he didn't know. 

Either way, Ray was glad to be free from the confinement of his room on Chiliad. He took great comfort in the familiarity of his shop and apartment. It was easy to pretend he wasn't being traced by the most notorious criminal in Los Santos when he was busy trying to heal the damage Lindsay had done to his fridge and plants, as well as his weed stash, which had been completely stolen, much to his annoyance. 

Maybe, he pondered, if he just turned away from the window, he could forget about the imminent sense of foreboding looming over his little shop of safety, but he couldn't bring himself to feign ignorance. 

So when the bell above his door finally rang hours later, and the familiar form of a man in a black leather jacket entered his shop, Ray was hardly surprised. 

"Hi, how may I help you?" Ray droned, leaning foreword in his chair and resting his chin in his palm as if he bored. 

Ryan was wearing a red baseball cap low over his face, so Ray couldn't exactly read his facial expression. That is, until he strolled up to the counter and leaned over it, resting his forearms on the surface. 

"I was looking for a pesky, insufferable Puerto-Rican, about yea high? You might have last seen him wearing purple, or escaping out a window." 

Ray was too perplexed to properly respond to Ryan's sarcastic retort. He was too busy staring at his face, now wiped clean of paint, leaving behind a fairly attractive complex. 

It was stunning, to say the least. Ray suspected he left his face paint at home so he could go undercover, but that also put his identity in danger. But that was confusing, because why would this man put himself at risk for him? However, that was not exactly Ray's biggest concern at that current moment. 

"You didn't tell me you were hot," Ray blurted out, unable to control himself. 

"And you didn't tell me you could pick a lock." Ryan threw back, and his mouth twitched, as if trying to hold back a smile. Ray followed the movement with a smirk. 

"Well that's not really something you want to share with your kidnapper, is it?" 

Ray was giddy for some reason. His heart pounded and a light smile occupied his face in the company of his soulmate. 

Ryan just shook his head again, digging around in his pocket to produce a piece of paper, which Ray recognized to be a plane ticket. 

Instantly Ray's mood turned sour as he scowled at it. 

"Look, man, I'm not going to Switzerland. I-" 

"Not Switzerland," Ryan interrupted, pushing the ticket closer to Ray, who squinted at the words and then looked up at Ryan skeptically. 

"Puerto Rico?" 

Ryan nodded approvingly. "I thought you'd like it better than Switzerland. I already rented out a hotel room for you to stay at in San Juan for the next couple of months. I have an... acquaintance down there who will help you get a new life-" 

"I'm not leaving!" Ray stood up so aggressively from his chair it surprised even himself. "Fuck," he cursed as an after thought, his hand traveling to gently press against his wounded side. Ray closed his eyes and gently sat back in his seat, folding his arms on the counter and rested his head on them. 

Ray rarely let himself get this angry, but he was sick of having no control of his life. Fucking bossy bastard. 

Ryan was watching him with appraising eyes, but he didn't say anything as he shifted his weight from one foot to another, seemingly nervous. 

"I'm not leaving," Ray mumbled again. 

The air felt heavy as Ray continued to bury his head in his arms, a defense mechanism he didn't know he had until then. 

An implied word hung above both their heads that Ray hadn't dared to say, but couldn't help but think. 

You. I'm not leaving you. 

Ryan blinked down at Ray, his chest filling and twisting with realization.

He had been counting on the fact that his soulmate would reject him the moment he revealed his... malevolent nature. 

As a teenager, he used to attend the annual rose festival dressed his Sunday best, in hopes of meeting his soulmate in the most romantic way possible. He had over a thousand pickup lines up his sleeve for over a thousand different situations.

However, as the years went by, and as it became more apparent to Ryan that he was going down a path that didn't quite allow room for any room for a relationship, he stopped visiting the festival. 

In fact, he had began to dread the day he would meet his soulmate, because he knew the moment they met that his soulmate would be destined to die young, whether it be a random shoot out in a dark alley or if they were held ransom by enemies of the Vagabond. 

Ryan gave an involuntary shudder. He couldn't bare the fact that he would most likely be the cause of his soulmate's terrible demise...

This, however, had been the last thing he was expecting. He had been so sure for so long that his soulmate would reject him on impulse, because no one in their right mind would want anything to do with a murderer. 

Ryan looked down at Ray, who seemed content to just lay on the counter sullenly. He looked very cute like that, Ryan concluded, a faint blush raising on his cheeks which made him wish for his skull mask, or even his face paint. 

"...Maybe we started off on the wrong foot." Ryan said rather awkwardly, to which Ray's head snapped up in surprise. 

"You think? You freaking shot me. Twice!" 

Ryan winced, but Ray's face was once again lit up with a smile that warmed Ryan's heart. 

"Sorry...?" 

"You better be." Ray said as he folded his arms, and Ryan let out a quiet chuckle, fondly staring at the other. 

Maybe Ray wasn't quite in his right mind, but hey, neither was Ryan, who's moral compass was already a little off the charts. 

He could made this work, Ryan decided. He would make it work. 

\---

After that, Ryan didn't mention Puerto Rico or anywhere far away again. Instead, he came to visit Ray in his shop every couple of days to keep him company while he organized and managed his flowers. 

Apparently, when you aren't heisting, working as a part-time hitman, or downright terrorizing the city, you have a lot of free time to hang around with your local florist. 

Every day brought on typical conversations about video games, movies, good childhood memories, and the usual argument. 

"Are you really just going to stand there and watch?" Ray would scoff as he began the tedious process of weeding the overgrowth in his garden, or hanging potted plants, or snipping flowers. 

"I'm not your employee," Ryan would reply scathingly, and Ray would retort, 

"You might as well be, with the amount of hours you put into staring at my ass." 

Ryan would get flustered and protest like he always did, eventually caving and joining Ray in whatever task he had at hand. 

Eventually, Michael and Gavin began dropping by his shop as well, if only to mock his career choice and disorganize all his hard work (Gavin especially liked pulling all the petals off of his flowers) but they always paid for their chaos by slapping a wad of cash on his counter and leaving just as quick as they came. 

Ray also finally met Jack, a very kind but sharp-tongued woman with a love for floral Hawaiian shirts, who bought a large assortment of plants and flowers from him each time she visited and always left a generous tip. 

While Ray found amusement in the dynamic duo of Team Nice Dynamite, he enjoyed Jack's company the most (aside from Ryan). But, it was hard for him to imagine her as the second-in-command of the most deadly crew in Los Santos. 

Geoff was apparently far too busy in preparations for some over-the-top heist to drop by and meet him, but Ray had heard plenty of stories from the rest of the crew about the infamous Boss Ramsey, who likes comparing everything to dicks and bawled during the movie Titanic. 

"Isn't it kind of dangerous to your identity and the crew's by hanging around here so often?" Ray had wondered aloud one day, staring at Ryan out of the corner of his eye as he messed around with making a flower crown. 

Ryan shook his head with a reassuring smile. "Nahhh, don't worry about us. Besides, no one's paying any attention to the flower shop on the corner. Even if someone did, they wouldn't dare come near here with the crew around. Doing so would result in an unhappy, painful death." 

"Good to know you're scaring the customers away," Ray grumbled back, waving Ryan over and placing the flower crown on his head, who beamed in delight. 

Even on the days Ryan didn't visit, Ray would see his car drift past his shop, slowing to a crawl before taking off once more. It made Ray smile, knowing that he was under his protection. 

Eventually, Ryan began coming to his shop daily, occasionally even walking him home to his apartment (but never entering past the door) on his late nights. 

Speaking of. 

Ray was attempting to keep himself busy by putting together a last minute order that someone had called in for, but his hands kept fumbling the bouquet and his leg kept bouncing up and down. 

"...The casualties are not yet known, but the police are saying that the Fakes have once again gotten away with another heist. Police units continue to scour the city for the criminals..." chimed the news reporter on the live broadcast streaming from his new phone (new, because Ryan had destroyed his old one to keep people from tracking him. asshole).

However, Ray was very relieved as he shut off the peppy voice. 

Tonight was the first night that the Fakes attempted a full blown heist since Ray had met them, and boy was he a bundle of nerves. He didn't like the fact that Ryan and his newfound friends were out risking their lives while he sat back and listened. 

His chest deflated with dread as he imagined the thousands of ways they could die. Gavin dying in a horrific explosion, Michael getting run down by a car, Jack getting littered with bullets in a dark alley, and Ryan getting caught and sent to the electric chair...

However, if the plan went through, Ryan and the rest of the crew should be safely tucked away in a safe house somewhere in the city. In fact, he should be getting a celebratory text from them any minute. 

Instead, Ray got a call from Michael. 

"Uhh... hello?" 

Ray could hear unintelligible yelling over the phone, as well as sirens screaming in the background. 

"Ray, fuck! Where are you?!" 

Ray's anxiety spiked as he looked out the front window of his shop, which was devoid of any action. 

"My shop? I decided to stay late tonight. Is everyone okay??" 

Ray heard gunshots coming from the speakers, as well as panicky noises coming from Gavin. 

"Fuck! We're outside your apartment right now. FUCKING SHOOT, GAVIN!" Michael shrieked as Ray's leg began bouncing violently, his palms becoming sweaty. 

"Michael?? What's going on?" Ray asked, but Michael seemed to be too busy yelling to notice. Ray waited anxiously for him to get back on the phone, watching the second hand on the clock tick painfully slow. 

"Okay, Ray, you listening? Take fucking cover. Lock your doors, barricade yourself somewhere safe, and fucking hide. We're headed your way, Ray, just stay put." 

"What-" 

The call dropped, and Ray stood breathless in the middle of his shop, his mind a swirling mess of unease. 

With his phone still in hand and his heart pounding anxiously, he killed the lights as well as locked the front door, backing into the darkness of his shop and taking cover underneath his counter with his baseball bat grasped tightly in his hands. 

Almost two minutes passed while Ray waited in the dark when texts began rolling into his phone. 

Gavin: A rival gang found out about our bloody heist plans and Jack, Geoff and Ryan were caught under heavy gunfire during the escape

For a second, Ray almost felt like he had been shot again. He numbly read on. 

Gavin: Michael and I just got out of the thick of it but now we're getting chased by the police

Gavin: Just stay put X-Ray, we're coming to get you

Ray: is ryan okay? 

Gavin: That son of a bitch would never go down knowing you're not safe 

Ray: and what exactly do you mean by that?

Gavin: we think those bastards have been watching us. If they knew about the heist, they probably know about you too.

Oh. 

Ray swallowed thickly as his mouth quickly grew dry. The whole crew was currently in deep shit, which left Ray completely defenseless and on his own. 

Ray: well shit. 

Ray tried his best not to spend the next couple of minutes worrying about Ryan and the Gents, and focused on the backs of his hands as he gripped the baseball bat tighter. 

It wasn't long before tires screeched angrily outside his shop. Very slowly, he peeked his head up over his desk just as an unfamiliar man stepped out of a large SUV, holding an SMG. Ray barely had the time to duck back under his desk before the man began unloading into the front of his shop, shattering the glass of his window. 

Ray dropped as low as he could to the floor, covering his head with his arms and squeezing his eyes tight. Adrenaline caused his body to tremble as the seemingly endless bullets tore apart his beloved shop. 

Finally, after what felt like years, the raining bullets stopped. More cars screeched to a halt outside, and masked men began entering his shop through the windows, their footsteps crunching on the broken glass. 

"And I thought this place couldn't get trashier," a familiar voice complained, and Ray's blood began to boil as he recognized the sleazy voice of the Hat-Guy he had sold overpriced pot to weeks ago. 

"Find him," someone commanded coldly, and the group began wrecking his place further, knocking over any surviving plants and even going as far as to loot the register over his head. 

It wasn't long before someone found him, kicking him hard in the stomach, his bat clattering to the ground as he was dragged out from underneath the desk.

Ray struggled harshly, throwing his weight one way, then the other, but someone nailed him in the groin and Ray collapsed with a groan, crumpling to the floor. Where were Gavin and Michael?

"Shows you for being a cheap asshole! You should have given me the full five g, or I wouldn't have stuck around to steal it from you. Imagine my surprise when the fucking Vagabond shows up and practically declares his love for you-" 

"Shut up," the man with the big forehead snarls, and Hat-Guy only laughs. Forehead stared Ray up and down suspiciously before turning to Hat-Guy. "Are you sure this is him?" 

Ray had barely begun to sit up before he was hoisted up harshly by the arms, and Ray hissed as the pulled on his stitches. 

"Yeah, for sure," Hat-Guy nodded over zealously. "His soul mark is on his hand. Should be filled, now that he's met the Vagabond." 

"...Check him." 

Ray glared furiously at Forehead as the man on his left grabbed his wrist harshly, revealing his brandished palm. Forehead nodded in satisfaction while the rest of the other men continued turning his shop upside down in an effort to find anything else of importance. Hat-Guy frisked him for his wallet, phone, and keys, his grimy hands resting and groping certain parts longer than necessary. Ray resisted the urge to spit in his face. 

The last thing Ray saw was one of the henchmen crushing his new phone with the heel of his boot. Hat-Guy pulled a bag over his head, cutting off his vision, and the two men flanking him began once more to drag him out of his shop. 

His heart rammed in his chest as they hauled him through the window, in the direction of where the cars were waiting, their engines puttering quietly. 

It was beginning to dawn on him that he was really on his own, and the chances of Michael and Gavin rescuing him now was very low. 

"Man, this turned out great. I wonder how much the Vagabond will be willing to give up for his bitch." 

The comment fueled Ray's anger, but he kept himself from reacting, waiting for the opportune moment. 

He allowed the men to drag him a hint further before one of them stumbled. Ray took advantage of the fumble by slamming into his side, causing the guy to eat pavement. 

"Shit!" 

Now only one person was restricting him, and Ray began to fight tooth and nail, blindly elbowing, kicking, and thrashing at anything that came into contact with him. 

He managed to ram his head into the lackey's face and struggled free from his grip for about all of two seconds before something came down on the back of his head, hard. 

"Got him," Hat-Guy called distantly as Ray's head rang like a gong. 

Dazed, he sank to the ground on all fours to find stability and began to crawl away, but a second hit sent him sprawling. 

For the second time on the same strip of sidewalk, Ray blacked out. 

\---

Ray woke up with a shuddering gasp as someone dumped icy cold water over his head, his lungs constricting as he struggled to become aware of his surroundings. 

"Wakey-wakey! Time to tell us all about the Fake AH Crew and your relationship to them!" 

Ray looked around with owlish eyes as he grew adjusted to the dim environment. From what he could tell, he was in some sort of abandoned warehouse or facility, and the only light source came from a flickering hanging light above his head. He looked down at his hands, which were effectively tied to the armrests of the chair he was sitting in. His legs were tied in a similar fashion, and he tugged on them experimentally. Two men stood guard to the door across the room, both casually carrying assault rifles. Ray recognized one as one of the gang members who had participated in his kidnapping. 

Normally, Ray would make a sarcastic jibe about how overboard they must've gone to achieve the cheesy horror movie set, but he just wasn't feeling it. 

No, Ray was flat out annoyed. He was exhausted, his head hurt, and now he was covered in cold water. He couldn't bother with these assholes- especially if they weren't even kind enough to speak with him face to face. 

The voice speaking to him was new- he wasn't any of the men that had abducted him- and it came from somewhere not far off behind him. 

"We've been watching you for a little while now. Ever since the night you met the Vagabond and went on your honey moon for a couple of days. Wanna tell me where you guys went?" 

Ray continued to give him the silent treatment, seething quietly in anger. 

The voice gave a large sigh, as if already taxed with Ray's terrible compliance. 

"Look, I know you're new to this, so I'll give you a little leeway. I ask, you answer. And I'm sure you're aware of the three T's, right? Toes, testicles, tongue, in that exact order if I think you're lying or if you continue this petty game." 

Ray tried not to react at the rustling of metal tools behind him, and the ominous snip of what Ray assumed to garden clippers. 

Finally, the man revealed himself (although not entirely, as he was dressed in complete black along with a ski mask), wheeling a tray of glinting metal devices with him. Ray couldn't help but give the tray occasional nervous glances while the man began his interrogation. 

"Okay, let's start with something easy. What's your name?" 

Ray bit the insides of his cheeks. Now, that would be an easy question on a normal basis. But Ray, being the unlucky bastard he was, had never taken the time to really look at his fake ID, which meant he really had no idea what his name was. Ray would have laughed at the irony of his situation if he wasn't busy trying not to piss his pants. 

Apparently he was grating on the nerves of this man, because he tsked and ran a practiced hand over the large assortment of torture devices, his hand hovering over a sharp scalpel before picking it up. Ray barely had time to react before the man briskly walked up to him, gripping the side of Ray's face painfully hard in his hand and running the scalpel along the top of his cheekbone. 

Ray fought against the restraints and yelled out, his jaw gaping like a fish out of water. The man loosened his grip on his face and Ray recoiled from the touch, his head lolling back as blood dripped down his neck. 

"Now, let's try that again. What is your name?" The man's voice was much sinister now, and Ray was beginning to feel weak in his knees in horror. 

The man sighed and shook his head at Ray's lack in response and stooped down to begin untying Ray's shoelaces in a practiced fashion. 

"Listen, Roy, I don't want to have to hurt you. I know that you're the victim in all of this, but you're our only lead on the Vagabond and the Fakes as of this moment." 

Oh, that's right. Roy. Ray felt nervous laughter building in his stomach, but it didn't quite bubble over. He squirmed painfully in his seat as the man peeled off his sock and reached for the garden clippers. He gave them a few experimental clips, lowering them down to Ray's toes. 

If Ray wanted to survive this, he needed to come up with lies this instant. Lies so convincing that they could entirely be truths. 

"If I tell, he'll string my intestines from here to Timbuktu," Ray finally whimpered out, throwing his head back and clenching his fists as he prepared for the worst. 

Ray nearly cried in relief as the man released his foot and put the scissors back on the tray. 

"Ahhh, I see. You are worried they will come after you if you talk," he observed, standing back up and smiling in approval. 

"What, did you think I was protecting them?" Ray asked spitefully, allowing the lies to run from his mouth in a steady stream. 

"Well, it was a possibility. The Vagabond is your soulmate, after all," his interrogator said thoughtfully, beginning to slowly pace the room. 

"That doesn't mean jack shit. He's a murderer. He's crazy, man, they all are. He shot me." Ray's voice shook, clenching his fists. 

The man smiled wryly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Well, that's something we have in common." 

Ray stared at him in slight surprise, and he shook his head, crossing the room to approach Ray. 

"But, you needn't be afraid of them any longer," The man cooed, touching Ray's uninjured cheek gently with a gloved hand. "The more you tell us, the easier it will be for us to take care of them." 

Ray nodded very slowly, but surely. 

"Good. So, let's start with your relationship to the Vagabond..." 

Ray did his best to tell the rival gang as much as possible at the same time as giving as little info away as he could. 

After many vague answers and 'I don't knows', the man sighed and rubbed his temples. Ray had done a great job acting like an oblivious idiot. 

"Let's call it quits for now. Please try and reflect everything we've gone over. It was a pleasure working with you, Roy Gardener." 

Ray nodded, trying to hide his smile by dipping his head to the man as he retreated back behind Ray, exiting through a back door. 

However, his victory felt short lived, as minutes turned into hours. He was still far from safety. Any minute, these guys could decide he was lying and kill him. Or decide they didn't need him anymore, and THEN kill him. 

But, one thing that reassured Ray was that if they were trying to get information out of Ray about Ryan and the crew, that means they survived the shoot out and were hopefully turning the city upside down looking for him. 

Ray had already done his part. Now all he had to do was wait, and hope that the Fakes were on their way. 

\---

Turns out, Ray really didn't have to wait that long. 

Ray was dozing off when an explosion sounded on the far side of the facility. Shouts and more explosives followed. The guards that had also began dozing off startled awake, reaching desperately for their weapons, but it was too late. 

The front door swung open, and there stood Ryan, masked, bloody, and downright dangerous. 

Ray watched in a mixture of horror and awe as Ryan took one of the guards down by littering him with throwing knives. The man began gargling blood as he fell to his stomach, crawling away desperately. 

The other guard shot his gun randomly at Ryan, but fear rendered his aim useless. Ryan spared him no hesitation, slitting his throat with another hidden knife and allowing his body to slump on the ground like a heap of wet laundry. 

Ryan crossed the dark facility in long strides to catch up with his previous victim, which hadn't yet died from his wounds (unlucky him). 

Ray finally had to turn away when Ryan- no... the Vagabond unsheathed his machete, chopping and hacking away at the gang member's body like an absolute mad man, continuing even after his eyes became glassy and his body fell apart in pieces. 

"Ray? Are you okay?" 

Ray opened his eyes, and like a double sided coin, Ryan was standing there with his soft, worried blue eyes, pulling his mask up so it rested on top of his head. 

"Yeah, doing great," Ray croaked. 

"Found Ray, guards taken care of. Jack, cover us while we're getting the hell out," Ryan mumbled through an earpiece. 

Suddenly, Ryan began approaching him, and Ray felt queasy at the sight of the bloody knife in his hand, closing his eyes and struggling against his bondages. 

"Quit wiggling, or I might hurt you." Ryan said softly in his ear, and Ray instantly stilled. 

As if sensing Ray's discomfort, Ryan worked quickly to cut away all of his restraints, and Ray all but leapt from the chair when he was finally freed. 

"Come on, we need to leave. The crew is causing a diversion right now and it won't be long before this gang's reinforcements come in," Ryan urged, taking Ray's hand in his and pulling him quickly through the facility. Bloody bodies lay in a trail, showing the Vagabond's direct line of fire 

Ray just closed his eyes and allowed Ryan to tug him along. Finally they made their way outside where Ryan's expensive black and green Zentorno lay waiting. Ray threw himself into the driver's seat, crawling over and into the passenger's side as Ryan followed him in, throwing his weight on the gas and screeching away from the building. 

"Holy shit."

Ray pressed his face to the glass of the car, catching sight of a large cargo bob laying waste onto the facility overhead. Explosions briefly lit up the earth. 

Ryan drove quickly away from the compound and away from the city. Ray turned back around in his seat, self consciously buckling his seatbelt. 

They drove and drove while Ray zoned out looking out the window, until Ryan finally slowed to a stop and cut the engine. 

"You got to be kidding me." 

In front of them lay the Mt. Chiliad safe house, looking just how Ray last left it. 

Ryan began moving to get out of the car, but Ray folded his arms and refused to unbuckle his seatbelt. 

Ryan stared at Ray for a few seconds before shaking his head and opening his car door. 

"Stay here, I'll be right back." 

Ryan closed the door and jogged inside. 

Ray lay shivering in the passenger seat. For a brief moment, he considered running away, but he dismissed the thought with a quick shake of his head. 

A few minutes passed and Ryan came back dressed in new clothes and his face paint haphazardly wiped from his face. In his hands he held a first aid kit. 

Ray allowed Ryan to fuss over him for the next thirty minutes, cleaning his scrapes and bruises and disinfecting the deep cut to his face. 

"I never meant for this to happen," Ryan said softly as he cleaned away the blood from Ray's face as best as he could. 

"I think it was kind of inevitable. You did say there were some people who would stop at nothing to put you and everyone you know on a stick," Ray tried to reassure him. 

"I let the leader of that gang live far too long." 

Ryan's eyes darkened as he said this, and Ray watched his knuckles turn white from clenching his fists. "I'm personally going to make sure each and every one of them are hunted down." 

Ray tensed, looking quickly away from Ryan. Ryan noticed his movement and drew back from Ray, letting the bloody rag drop to his lap in dejection. 

"You're afraid of me." 

"Only a little," Ray admitted softly, reclining the seat and laying back. 

"How do you mean by that? You just watched me brutally murder two people and enjoy it." Ryan reclined his own seat and rested his hands on his stomach, staring at the roof of his car. 

"Yeah, that was kind of rough. But... It's not really you per se that scares me."

Ryan looked at Ray questioningly, and Ray's heart skipped a beat as a confession slipped past his lips. 

"It's more the fact that I still think you're super fucking attractive, even when you're ripping people apart." 

Ryan stared at him in astonishment, a sly smile creeping across his face as he sat up. 

"Really. That's... interesting." 

Ray sat up as well, the air feeling heavy between them as Ryan beckoned Ray closer. 

Ray was a moth getting lured by the light that was Ryan, leaning forward eagerly. He had been waiting for this moment for ages, dropping not so subtle hints that Ryan had either laughed at, blushed at, or ignored, and now it was here. 

In fact, Ray was so enthusiastic he accidentally knocked heads with Ryan. 

"Ray!" Ryan complained, his hand jumping to hold his forehead in pain. 

"Shut up," Ray commanded red-faced, taking Ryan's head in his hands and this time carefully pressing their lips together. Ryan's lips tasted of residual face paint and a slight hint of metallic copper, and Ray fucking loved it. 

They parted after a few seconds, and Ray positively glowed with happiness and lightheartedness as he went back for another kiss. 

Ray carded his hands through Ryan's hair, pulling on it mischievously, and Ryan retaliated by deepening the kiss. 

Suddenly the atmosphere changed in the car, and Ray's stomach twisted itself into knots. 

Ray broke the kiss for a few seconds to crawl into Ryan's lap, and their lips reconnected once more but in a more hurried, frenzied action. 

Ray tugged on Ryan's hair again for a better angle, and Ryan bit Ray's lip. 

Ray made a muffled noise of surprise and Ryan took that opportunity to slip his tongue into his mouth, and that was exactly the moment any conscious thoughts Ray was having flew out the window. 

Ray let out a low moan and Ryan growled in response, breaking the kiss once more to leave a trail of bites and kisses down his jaw and to his neck, sucking harsh hickeys and love bites into Ray's skin. 

"Ry," Ray groaned out, unable to hold back from grinding himself down on Ryan, who responded in a low rumble, continuing to work blossoming bruises onto Ray's neck. 

"Ryan, we better stop unless you want the inside of your car painted white." 

Ryan paused for a second, his pupils blown out as he looked up at Ray. It reminded Ray of a wolf that hadn't eaten for days, and Ray almost gave a full body shudder. 

"Do you want to stop?" Ryan asked sweetly, drawing back. 

Ray shook his head frantically, but Ryan looked at him fondly and shook his head. "We should probably get some rest anyways. We've had a long day. Besides, I want to take you to dinner before I fuck you senseless." 

Ray snorted, "Classy," but Ryan's words continued running through his mind for the rest of the night, as Ryan brought piles of blankets and pillows to the car, and even after they returned to their respective sides of the vehicle.

Ray was sure they even haunted his dreams.


	5. V.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heh.... how long's it been? A day? A month? A year?? Ehh, guess it doesn't really matter because the correct answer is too long. I'm so sorry guys. I feel like an awful person for leaving you hanging this long, and with a kind of boring chapter as well :l 
> 
> I'll make it up to you guys in the next chapter. I've got big things planned c': it just make take me awhile to write them. 
> 
> ALSO NOTEWORTHY: we somehow made it to fucking 420 kuddos and i couldn't be happier. what a number. what a wild ride you guys have taken me on.
> 
> OKAY ONE LAST THING!! Someone freaking made fan art for this fic and it looks so freaking stunning! Go check it out right now! vvvvvvvvv
> 
> https://twitter.com/WTFmrk/status/826468668309639169

Ray woke up groggily to Ryan prodding his side insistently. 

"Hey, sleepy head. Rise and shine." 

"Nooooo..." Ray quickly threw his blanket over his head to avoid the soft light of dawn, closing his eyes tight and wishing for the billionth time in his life that he could simply fall back into the soft, wonderful cushion of sleep. 

Ryan, however, seemed hellbent on ruining Ray's hopes and dreams. He started tugging the blanket off of Ray, but the grumpy florist held on tight, fighting Ryan every step of the way. 

"Come on, man. The sun isn't even all the way up yet!" Ray whined as Ryan finally ripped the blanket from his grip. 

While Ray had long become familiar with all-nighters due to his obsessed gaming and irregular insomnia, they had barely achieved two hours of sleep, and Ray was feeling the affects of the trauma that the night before had caused. 

"We've all got to meet back at the base pronto. Geoff is not very happy about this gang interfering with our heist plans and stealing our stuff." 

Ray was hardly having it. 

"It's fucking five am! And I'm not your damn 'stuff'!" 

Inevitably, Ryan coaxed Ray out of the vehicle, sending him very reluctantly indoors to shower. 

Ray quickly walked to the bathroom, just trying to complete his tasks as efficiently as possible. The sooner, the better.

He switched on the shower to allow the water to grow warm, feeling the temperature with fingertips. He took off his glasses and peeled his bloody, sweaty clothes off, dumping them on the floor with little composure. 

Ray entered the choppy mist and sighed, his head lolling forwards as the hot water ran down his body, watching as small flakes of dried blood washed down the drain, washing away the ugly remains of yesterday. 

Well. Not all of it was ugly, Ray thought weakly as he absentmindedly ran his hands down his body, feeling too hot under the water. He slowly tipped the temperature the other way until he almost couldn't take it, quickly and dutifully washing his skin and hair, a contemplative frown fixed on his face as he reflected on the past events. 

Ray shut off the water and toweled himself off gently, rustling through the medicine cabinet to pull out clean bandages and ointments for his ever-still present bullet wounds and the fresh cut on his cheek. 

After gingerly reapplying said medical supplies appropriately, Ray realized he was faced with a minor problem. 

Lack of clothing. 

Ray wrapped his waist with his towel, opening the bathroom door barely a crack. 

Well, the coast seemed clear. 

Ray flew through the door and down the hall to the lads' room, where he hoped to find some of Michael's spare clothes- but all that filled his drawers was two dusty shirts, a pair of boxers, and socks. 

Ray pulled on the clothing quickly, relieved at finally adorning protection, but he was still at a loss for pants. 

"Hey Ryan?" Ray called, trying to will the redness of his face away. He had practically been moaning the guy's name the night before without a care, and now he was embarrassed at being caught in his boxers. 

Fuck, Ryan had probably already seen him in boxers weeks ago when he got shot, so why was he getting so worked up? 

Ryan opened the door to Michael and Gavin's room cautiously, freezing as he caught sight of Ray. 

Ray stood helpless while Ryan looked him up and down with a smirk. 

"Need a hand?" 

"Fuck off." Ray averted his eyes to the ceiling, impatiently wiggling his toes and crossing his arms. 

"Sure, I'll go. I don't mind keeping you like this," Ryan chuckled with a sly smile, pretending to walk away while continuing to eye him with a mischievous glance. 

"Just find me some pants you asshole!" 

Ryan lifted his hands slowly in surrender, walking backwards out of the room. He held up one finger and pivoted away with a casual stroll. 

He came back to him moments, shucking a pair of gray sweat pants towards him. 

"Are these yours?"

Ryan nodded an affirmation. 

"You can't possibly think these will fit," Ray dead-panned, holding up the large, baggy pants to his waist, which fell almost an extra foot past his toes. 

"They're cuffed, genius." 

Ray scowled at Ryan as he left the room, and Ray pulled on the oversized sweats. The bastard was right about the cuffs that clung to his ankles, and after adjusting the waist band, they just managed to cling onto his hips. 

Still, there was an unnecessary amount of clothing bagging up on his calves, as well as a lot of crotch space. 

...but overall, not so bad. 

Ray padded out of the room, repressing a yawn as he walked into the familiar living room, flopping on his back onto the couch, wincing a little as his head throbbed at the harshness of his movement. 

"Time to go." 

"Man, I just got comfortable," Ray complained, wiggling around on the couch for emphasis before snuggling into a ball. 

"Don't make me come over there." 

Ray sat up, peering over the top couch at Ryan, who stood in the doorway, now looking a tad bit impatient. 

Normally, Ray would take up the challenge, but he had a feeling Ryan wouldn't appreciate it much, as it seemed they were running a little late. 

So, he dragged himself off the couch and started towards Ryan, who opened the door for him when he neared. 

"...where's the car?" 

Ray scanned the driveway with narrowed eyes as Ryan closed the front door behind them, walking quickly towards the garage. 

He followed him, watching Ryan disappear into the darkness of the garage, confusion sketched all over his face as he adjusted his glasses. 

"Why'd you park the car in the garage..." 

Ryan emerged wheeling a beat up looking Sanchez motorcycle, parking it in the driveway as he secured a full faced helmet over his head. He then offered an extra helmet to Ray, who looked at it in disbelief. 

"Why?" 

"Taking the Zentorno would raise too much suspicion, and we don't have the time to wait for the cops to forget about us." 

Ray squinted at Ryan, sighing as he begrudgingly took the helmet and crammed it over his head. 

Ryan popped a leg over the bike and turned it on, revving the engine experimentally while Ray clambered on behind him, feeling rather awkward at the close proximity. 

"There's uh, not much to hold onto." 

"Hmm. Guess you'll just have to figure something out," said Ryan, and Ray fucking knew the bastard was smiling under his helmet. 

Ray kept his arms tightly by his sides (his wordless way of saying 'fuck you') and almost fell backwards when Ryan peeled out of the driveway with a sharp burst of speed. 

"Holy shit!" 

Ray's fingers barely managed to catch on the back of Ryan's jacket, swearing under his breath and scooting down the seat until he was completely flush with Ryan. He wrapped his arms around his middle in a tight grip, letting out a relieved whoop of excitement as Ryan weaved through the trees and flew down the mountain. 

For a moment, Ryan slowed down, checking to see if Ray was alright. 

"What the hell are you slowing down for?! Go faster!" 

Ryan didn't need to be told twice, popping a wheelie (to which Ray let out another shout of laughter) and they took off once more, the wind whipping at his baggy sweats and his purple jacket fluttering almost like a cape behind him. 

\---

All too soon they reached the city, to which Ryan slowed down considerably and began following basic traffic laws, to Ray's disappointment. 

It wasn't long before Ryan pulled up to a large garage on the side of an expensive looking building, parking the Sanchez and entering the main complex, Ray following close behind him. 

They sit in a comfortable silence as they entered an elevator, and Ray had to refrain the childish urge of pushing all the buttons on the way up. 

Ryan entered the door of the penthouse, ushering Ray in and closing the door quietly. 

Upon first glance, the place was empty and quiet- but as Ray looked around, there were very obvious signs the place was occupied. 

A couple of duffle bags which had an unreasonable amount wear and tear sat plain out in the open, and loose bits of cash threatened to fall out of their neat bundles. 

A familiar Hawaiian shirt was thrown across the top of the couch, with an alarming amount of blood on it. 

An expensive pair of golden sunglasses lay shattered atop the kitchen counter, as well as an overturned beer bottle. 

Come to think of it, the place was littered with alcoholic beverages, all mostly or completely finished. Ray eyed up a stained wall, and the shattered remains of glass laying underneath, his eyes trailing to the fist-shaped hole in the wall. 

Dread filled Ray as he stared among the penthouse, turning to Ryan with concern in his soft brown eyes, opening his mouth to say something. 

"You sure took your sweet time showing up here, dickhead." 

Ray's words dissolved on the tip of his tongue. A man with a suit that cost more than Ray could ever even hope to make in one lifetime picked his way down the stairs, grumbling every step of the way. Ray couldn't help but feel underdressed, looking down at Ryan's giant sweatpants in vain. 

He had tattoos covering the backs of his hands and knuckles, as well as a very well maintained handlebar mustache. Despite his insult, the man looked genuinely happy to see Ryan, nodding to his crew mate in acknowledgement. 

Then, he turned his tired looking eyes towards him. 

"Hello, Ray. It's nice to finally meet the only person on earth capable of turning big ol' mean and heartless into a pile of sappy mush." 

Ray stuffed his hands in his pockets, unsure of what to make of his comment, and also unsure if he was supposed to shake the man's hand or not. 

He knew without a doubt the man in front of him was Geoff Ramsey, the feared and ruthless leader of the Fake AH Crew- so it startled him when Geoff crossed over to him and threw an arm around his shoulders, giving him a quick but gentle side hug. 

"Wish we could have met under better circumstances. And I'm sorry you got pulled into the middle of all this. Those cock suckers are gonna pay for attacking an innocent kid." 

"I'll have you know I'm one hundred percent man," Ray protested, crossing his arms. 

"Yeah, and just how long has it been since you turned eighteen? Two months?" Geoff said with a wobbly smile, looking like he was trying to stifle a giggle. 

"Try six years," Ray attempted to retort, but was drowned out by the eruption of laughter that burst from the man. 

"Oh, Ryan! I'm so glad you decided not to shoot this kid- Well, shoot him dead." 

Ray scowled at Geoff, turning to Ryan to ask for back up, but Ryan had a displeased expression on his face. 

"Aren't we all," a new voice snorted, and Jack emerged from the top of the stairs holding a mug of coffee and looking almost as tired as Geoff. 

"Ryan, Ray. Good to see you two are safe," she said, giving Ryan a fond pat on the shoulder (who still had a twisted look on his face) and full on embraced Ray in his second hug of the day. 

"All thanks to you guys. Were you the one piloting that badass cargo-bob?" Ray asked as soon as she released him. 

Geoff, who was in the middle of pouring himself a drink, dropped the bottle and once more erupted into a fit of snickers. "Badass, he says. Little does he know about the custom floral interior design. Nothing says badass like daisies and forget-me-not's." 

Jack frowned at Geoff, setting her coffee mug on the counter. 

"No, you're absolutely right. Sounds badass," Ray remarked. "You'll have to show me sometime," he said to Jack, and the woman sent him a large smile. 

Geoff's laughs began to wear off. He wiped his nose with his sleeve and sniffed, looking even more tired than before. 

Silence fell before them, and Ray finally used this gap to ask something that had been bothering him since he had shown up. 

"So... Where's Team Nice Dynamite?" 

When no one immediately answered him, Ray cleared his throat, impatient and borderline worried. 

It was Jack who finally spoke up. 

"...Michael and Gavin were the ground team causing the diversion during your rescue operation."

Jack took a deep breath, her eyes downcast. "In the midst of the chaos, Gavin managed to get himself caught up in one of Michael's explosions." 

"Dumb bastard has a way of running straight towards the danger." Geoff said with a shake of his head. 

"Oh, shit," Ray said, his voice cracking. "Is..." Ray couldn't even bring himself to finish the rest of the sentence. 

He looked over at Ryan helplessly, but Ryan stood stoically, his eyes dead ahead, his only movements coming from the gentle rising and falling of his chest. 

"He hasn't woken up since. Michael refuses to leave his side," Jack spoke softly. 

Ray closed his eyes in a small moment of gratitude. At least he was still alive. 

"We need to work on better communication in our team. There's a reason why the people we try to hire don't stick around or flat out refuse. We're missing something important..." Ray grew distracted as Geoff continued his rant, his mind wandering elsewhere. 

While he still barely knew these people, he owed them his life. They went incredible measures to ensure his safety, and even risked their lives for him. But what for? A dumb mark on his hand? 

"You should go up and see them. They were... pretty broken up when they saw the state of your shop," Ryan leaned down to say in his ear. "Besides, Geoff, Jack and I have things we need to discuss." 

Ray nodded numbly, and Geoff offered him an unopened bottle of beer. Ray couldn't find the words to explain his temperance, so he accepted the drink and made his way to the marbled stairs. 

Down the hall was a series of rooms. All of them were closed except one, which was pushed open a crack. 

"Michael?" 

Ray nudged the door further open with his foot, squinting into the dark.

Soft light lit up the room as Ray flipped on one of the light switches. 

Michael, who looked to have been nodding off on his chair, winced at the sudden influx of light. He glared up at Ray with pinprick eyes, sitting up harshly. 

Ray held up his hands meekly, flicking the light back off. He was about ready to leave the room when Michael finally dipped his head and waved him over, his hand outstretched for the beer that Ray forgot he had been holding. 

He crossed the room and passed the beer to Michael, who cracked the bottle cap off on the edge of their messy bedside table and took a few well deserved gulps. As Ray grew closer, he noticed the cuts and bruises that littered his face, one of his eyes looking painfully swollen. 

Ray stood next to Michael, allowing a small smile at the room, the walls splattered with red and blue paint, laundry strewn along the floor, and the bunk beds. 

"Lemme guess. You got top bunk?" Ray tried to joke, but Michael looked strangely deflated. 

"No, not normally." 

Ray bit his lip awkwardly as Michael took another swig. Of course Gavin would claim the top bunk (because 'Micoo, when do I ever get top?'), but under these circumstances, the British lad was currently laid carefully on the bottom bunk, the blankets pushed to the floor in a heap. 

The crew had done their best to clean him up and pick the shrapnel and burnt clothes out of his flesh. Luckily, it looked like he had protected the majority of his face from the explosion by shielding it with his forearms, save for a few cuts on his forehead. His expensive blue button down shirt was ripped open, all the buttons missing, and his chest was patterned with wounds. 

Among the fragmented wounds, Ray spotted an odd red blotch, just below his collar bone. Upon closer inspection, Ray realized it was his soul mark: a red and black bundle of explosives. 

"How'd you guys meet, exactly?" Ray wondered aloud. 

Michael reluctantly tore his eyes away from Gavin's face, rolling up the sleeve on his t-shirt and showing Ray his own soul mark, tapping on a yellow circle with a smiley face stamped on his bicep among his other tattoos. 

"Like how most soulmates meet. Bumped into him on the street- except he was absolutely covered in these obnoxious smiley face stickers that he accidentally nicked from a woman's purse instead of her wallet." 

"And the dynamite?" Ray quipped, raising an eyebrow. 

"I had it in my backpack, which he also tried to steal. I had to chase him down two blocks and over a damn fence before he opened my bag and realized," Michael said with a half smile, shaking his head at the memory. 

Ray turned his eyes thoughtfully to the ceiling, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pockets. 

"Huh. I didn't realize the whole Nice Dynamite thing had much meaning behind it. Should probably work on a better team name for Ryan and I." 

"Yeah? What you got so far?" Michael asked with mild curiosity. 

Ray's mind spun like shoes in a dryer for barely .02 seconds. 

"Uhh, the R&R Connection." 

The lad busted out in loud laughter, holding a hand to his forehead and running it down his face. 

"Yeah, that could use some work." 

The moment passed, and Michael became solemn once more, but at least the usually exuberant man was looking a little more attentive than before. 

"Shit... Ray, he was so worried about you. Rolling up to see your shop just... absolutely annihilated, barely minutes after we had been on the phone... No sign of you anywhere, no easy way of finding you... Gavin was about ready to rip someone's throat out." 

Ray blinked, and his heart swelled for a moment of unchecked emotion, unable to speak. Imagining Gavin angry was almost impossible, and knowing that he had gotten that worked up over him...

"Man, we were all worried about you." 

"Why?" 

Michael stared at him like he was crazy. "What do you mean, 'why'?" 

"I don't know. You don't know me, I don't really know you..." Ray trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. 

"You better not let the rest of the crew hear that," Michael growled, his voice filled with hostility. "We just risked our asses to save yours." 

Ray shook his head, stuffing everything deep down into an empty pocket of his soul to think about later in the middle of the night, when everyone else was asleep. 

"Nahh, I had things under control. Two more minutes and I could have wiggled away, using the blood from my missing appendages as lubricant. Plus, I always kind of wanted a badass face scar," he with a light hearted tone, attempting to diffuse the awkward situation he had pulled himself into "It looks like I got in a knife fight. Or maybe I got grazed by a bullet, barely dodging death." 

Michael glowered at Ray. "Really? Cause it kind of looks like a cat got its claw stuck in your face." 

"Micoo? That you?" Gavin suddenly stirred, mumbling and groaning as he began struggling to move. 

"Hold on, don't move buddy!" Michael quickly reached out and placed his hand on his open chest, his other hand brushing through Gavin's matted hair. 

"Michael, what happened?" Gavin said, becoming more coherent and agitated as the seconds ticked by, fighting against Michael's hand to sit up. "Is Ray okay? Did we save him?" 

"Right here," Ray said, sitting down on Gavin's bed and giving him a small reassuring smile. 

"Oh, thank Christ!" Gavin sank down into the softness of the bed, blowing out relieved sigh. "Jeez, X-Ray, you had me nearly pissing myself." His voice sounded rough from either emotion or from inhaling too much smoke from the explosions. 

"Sorry Gav. I won't do it again, I promise." 

Gavin looked disbelievingly at Ray, eyeing him with a small amount of distrust. 

"That's not something you can promise." 

Ray blinked, surprised at the British lad's deep sincerity and concern. 

"Uhh... Scout's Honor?" 

Gavin's frown wobbled, and he eventually broke into a smile, letting out a weak chuckle. 

After Gavin reassured Michael that he was really feeling alright, the three spent the next several minutes catching up on exact details of the heist and rescue operation, which quickly went off topic as they began arguing about something completely unimportant. 

Eventually, Ray began to feel a little third wheel-ish every time Gavin cooed at Michael, or whenever Michael got a little handsy with Gavin. So, Ray took to inviting himself out, standing up slowly and rolling his neck in a stretch, slowly edging his way towards the door. 

"Hey, Ray, wait a second!" Gavin whined from his bed, lightly bouncing up and down. 

"Waiting." 

"I'm sorry about your flower shop," he said in his sad little voice, "And your apartment." 

Ray frowned, his stomach clenching. "What happened to my apartment?" 

Michael shot a sharp glance towards Gavin, who let out a tiny peep, a nervous smile coming across his features. 

"Well, uhh. You see-" 

Ray held up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose while Gavin and Michael both rambled on and on, trying desperately to make any kind of excuse to diffuse his anger. 

But in all honesty, Ray really wasn't all that angry. All his apartment held was a broken Xbox and a shitty mattress. 

"It's fine." Ray said shortly, cutting them off. "I didn't own a lot of valuables. The only thing I really cared about was-" 

"This?" 

Gavin stuck his hand down into his pants, rummaging around a bit before procuring a well-loved pink DS and waving it at Ray. 

"...on second thought, you can keep it." 

"What!??!" Gavin cried in indignation, waving it madly at Ray. 

"Nahhh, just kidding. That thing has definitely been in worse places than your pants." Ray said with an grin, his hand enclosing around the familiar device and pocketing it in the giant pockets of his sweatpants as he exited the room. 

"WOT?!???" 

\---

Ray closed Michael and Gavin's room behind him, carefully patting his pocket to make sure he still had his beloved DS despite only walking a couple of steps. Letting out a tired huff, he walked back down the hall towards the stairs. 

Then he paused, suddenly alert as he heard an unfamiliar voice downstairs, accompanied by Ryan's laughs. 

Momentarily shocked at hearing Ryan not just chuckle, but full out laugh, Ray picked his way down the stairs, just to see his soulmate embracing a small, purple haired woman in a giant hug in the open doorway of the penthouse, a large smile eloping his face, with Jack and Geoff nowhere to be seen. 

Ryan met eyes with Ray and slowly released the woman. It was suddenly like a switch had been flipped as Ryan righted himself, staring at Ray with a hard-set frown. For the hundredth time in the past few weeks, Ray didn't quite know what to do with himself. His hands hung uselessly by his sides, so he stuffed them into his hoodie pockets, drawing up his shoulders. 

"Oh, Ryan!! You didn't tell me he was this cute!" The woman practically squealed, hitting Ryan's shoulder with a friendly punch as she stepped further inside and Ray's stomach gave a queasy turn as he saw her face. 

Slowly at first, Ray started down the stairs, but then gradually sped up as he walked over to them. 

Fuck, she was absolutely stunning. Her smile was infectious, and her hair pooled over her shoulders like waves in the ocean at night. Her eyes twinkled behind thick framed glasses and damn, did she look good in tight, black clothing. 

"I'm Meg Turney," she said as she extended a delicate hand towards him, and Ray took it self-consciously as he examined her perfect nails next to his plain hands. 

"Ray," he managed with a smile, and he counted that as a victory. 

Instantly, Meg let go of his hand and turned to Ryan, a pout taking up her beautiful face as she rested a hand on his forearm. 

"I can't believe you didn't tell me you met your soulmate. Gosh, how did you guys meet?" 

Ray's smile twisted uncomfortably and he took that as his cue to exit the scene without being too rude, crossing the room to the comfy looking couch and curled up, pulling his DS from his pocket and flipping it open, taking comfort in the familiarity of it as he booted up Leaf Green. 

He had already beaten the Elite Four and his rival, but Ray was a bit of a completionist and was now scouring the game for every last Pokemon he could get his hands on. 

Ray tried to ignore Meg's quirky laugh and her buddy-buddy attitude towards Ryan. He had no reason to be jealous. Ryan was his soulmate for fucks sake, and she was nothing. 

Except it was the opposite. Ray was just randomly picked up by Ryan like litter off the street. If it weren't for the tattoo on his hand, Ryan would have shot him once, right in the head. She was everything, and they talked to each other like old friends. Like past lovers. 

Ray furiously clicked the buttons on his DS,  
completely failing to focus on the game as he listened to Geoff and Jack enter the room. He flicked his game closed and looked over the top of the couch.

"Isn't this a little overkill? When's the last time you've needed to use a grenade launcher outside of a bank heist?" Geoff grumbled as he set down two fully loaded bags of gear in front of Ryan and Meg, who began to inspect the armory they were supplied. 

"I wouldn't be where I am today without a little flare," Meg said with a grin, hoisting a heavy looking bag onto her shoulder effortlessly. "Besides, those assholes need a little reminder to why you don't fuck with you guys." 

"Remind me why we haven't hired you into Fake AH yet?" Jack asked, one of her eyebrows raised as the two took inventory, slipping lethal weapons into hidden pockets and suiting up, unaware of Ray watching warily from his place on the couch. 

"Because I like to work alone. Save for a few exceptions," Meg said with a wink aimed at Ryan, and Ray flopped back onto the couch, a wave of nausea sweeping over him. 

"Whatever. You guys got everything you need?" Geoff asked impatiently. "I'm tired as hell and would like to go back to bed as soon as you two are on your way out." 

"You're leaving?" Ray couldn't help but finally butt in. He felt like a little kid the way everyone stared at him, and he didn't miss the fact that Ryan was pointedly avoiding his gaze. 

"Ryan's our hitman. No better person to go and personally clean up the stragglers from the gang that decided to mess with us," Jack said matter of factly, picking up her bloody Hawaiian shirt and a couple of empty beer bottles to throw out. 

"Don't worry about us!" Meg waved her hand in a nonchalant way, as if dismissing the fact she was holding a mother fucking flame thrower in the other. "Ryan and I actually used to work together, long before he joined the Fakes. Ever heard of Mad King and Doll Face?" 

Ray's jaw dropped. "You? You're Doll Face?" Instantly, he felt a tremor of fear lick through him. He had heard the rumors. Not just rumors, but facts. This was the woman that roamed the streets of Los Santos at night just for an excuse to slit anyone's throat that dared cat call her. The woman who could rip your dick off in close combat and make a clean shot right through your balls a mile away. The woman who murdered her own soulmate after they stabbed her in the back. Literally. 

"And you're the Mad King? Doll Face's brute strength and right hand man?" Ray squinted at Ryan suspiciously. "Actually, that does kind of make some sense," he mumbled as an afterthought. Mad King (from what Ray has heard over the years) had been notoriously known as a risk taker and a wild card. Not that Ryan wasn't still like that nowadays, but back then... 

Mad King had been much more of a sinister criminal. While Fake AH was known to be somewhat careful of civilian casualties (for example, not planning a heist two blocks from an elementary school or a park) Mad King went out of his way to kill those around him. Some say he spent his nights luring men and women back to his den using his charm and good looks. But the moment they let their guard down, the insanity came crashing down. 

When he disappeared a few years back, no one had been surprised. He was a martyr and a monster. Someone who would die doing what they loved, which just so happened to be chopping people up into itty bitty pieces. 

No wonder the Vagabond wore a mask. 

"He's different now," Meg said evenly as she searched his face, clearly able to read his thoughts like the enchantress she is. Ray risked a glance at Ryan, but he still stood impassively next to Meg, apparently unwilling to express any thought or opinion about it. 

"Right." Ray tried not to feel anything as he lowered himself back down onto the couch, staring at the high ceilings while Ryan and Meg moved to the other room, leaving Ray to his own devices. Their voices were low and hushed, but still lighthearted or almost playful as they started talking about butt-fuck nothing. 

Everyone went back to doing what they were doing- Geoff climbed back up the stairs, muttering about going back to sleep, while Jack continued to clean up the penthouses until her arms were filled with empty bottles. 

And then there was Ray, who sat on the couch with the feeling that he didn't quite belong among these people, staring at the backs of his hands until Ryan and Meg were out the door, without so much as even a wave goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ray seems to be having some issues coming to terms with everything that's gone down since he met Ryan. What could ever happen next?!? 
> 
> Stay tuned and you might experience raywood goodness, soulmate lore on different Fake AH members, Team Lads wreakin' havoc, and the long awaited emergence of the one, the only........ *whispers* rimothy timothy


End file.
